Emerging from the Realm of Darkness
by C PACS
Summary: The Children find themselves in the realm yet again... this time to battle a new evil that threatens the safety of their new home. It will take all of their allies and all of their powers combined to avoid the deadliest coup fantasy lore has ever seen. Loyalties will be tested and new predators abound as our heroes struggle to save the world they just left behind. E/D/K, H/S, P/V
1. Author's Note

Dear Reader,

Thank you for spending your time with this! I've never written fan fiction before, so this is really new to me. I'd appreciate feedback (please keep it polite) if you have the time. It's the summer, so I thought it's high time I stop dwaddling and actually edit/publish this stuff, so I hopefully will have chapters up in a timely fashion.

I kind of have a life (kind of), so I might not make my goal of a chapter a day. Some of what I have down already is too atrocious to put up on the internet for others to see… so: trust me. If things aren't going up, it's for the health of the masses that they don't see it until I've edited it to something manageable. If you check up on the story after a bit of time, it's likely that more will be up than when you first read it (unless I've finished it finally).

General Notes on the Book:

Content: Language, violence (there's murder, a dragon attack, etc.) I rated it M just in case…

Ages: Hank, Sheila, Presto, Eric, and Diana are all 18ish. Bobby is younger. When returning to Earth, they didn't shrink back three years: there are physical clues still present (including their increased ages and additional muscle) alluding to their three years in the realm.

Spoilers: If you haven't read the script/heard the read-through of Requiem, I mention that a bit. Also, most of the 'Dungeon's and Dragon's' cartoon's adventures are referenced (or the characters or the places). So there might be spoilers there… nothing major I think.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoy it!

-C PACS

"Lok'tar ogar!"


	2. Chapter 1: The Three Years

Something sparked overhead from a broken wire, and the close proximity of such a dangerous voltage was what woke Hank Guilds from his stupor. One moment the world around him was in complete darkness. The next, there was a hint of light. For a second he could hardly recall his own name… but that lapse passed after a second of bleary, eye-rubbing numbness. Around him lay the figures of his greatest companions, all in various stages of consciousness with otherwise-modern attire donned. Automated demons and cheap gargoyle machines were fuming smoke from small fires, and the tracks before their ride car were twisted off their intended course.

_'What the hell happened ha-". _Then it hit him: they were back at the carnival. Moments ago, Hank, Sheila, Presto, Eric, Bobby, and Diana had been in another realm… now they were _home._ No more in the realm of dungeons and dragons, but in one of democracies and drive-thrus.

"Here! They're over here, Dylan!" someone yelled, waving a flashlight into the collapsed tunnel. "There's an entire cartful! Don't worry, kids. Don't try to move: we're getting you out of this mess!"

"Sheila?" Hank groggily asked, elbowing the unconscious figure beside him. She woke with a jolted start, as though running from a nightmare.

After a moment of taking in her surroundings, Sheila's eyes became round and wide as dinner plates. "It wasn't a dream," she stated, as though trying to convince herself. "It wasn't a dream." This time, the statement had more conviction.

"No, it wasn't," Hank agreed, smiling. Sheila checked to see if Bobby was intact. All four limbs on the Barbarian were present and in order. It was only then that Sheila fully accepted where they were.

"We're home," she laughed, giggling and then laughing hysterically. "It's done. We're done." Diana (who had notably processed all of these things faster than Sheila's slow realization) elbowed her to stop, but was grinning widely too. They were fine… better than fine, even! In their last moments in the world of Dungeons and Dragons, the Dungeon Master had granted them access to their home after they had freed his son from evil bondage. Venger, once their enemy, now was a gallant warrior protecting the realm in their absence. It made for a wonderful ending to an adventure. Did it sound absolutely insane? Obviously. If one really thought about it, the whole experience sounded like it came from the imagination of a psych patient, yet Hank knew it was real… he _knew _it. If he needed proof, Bobby and Presto still had hat heads from their fantasy garb.

"You still look a little like that bogbeast," Presto said in a low voice from the backseat to Eric. Eric, for once, had no more witty comments at the ready.

"We survived that freak show," he said to no one in particular. "We _actually _made it."

"Holy hell, Fred," the firefighter, Dylan, said, helping Diana out of the car. Hank found it odd that Diana, once a powerful and unbeatable acrobat with a formidable javelin always at the ready, was being carried out of the demolished theme park attraction like a helpless puppy. Her legs buckled and swayed underneath her, as though they had been cramped in the ride for hours.

"You guys okay?" Fred asked. The two rescue squad people began helping Eric and Presto out from the seats and began leading them out of the tunnel. Eric's limbs moved very awkwardly, unused to the lightness of them minus the heavy chain mail he had donned for three years.

"Never better," Bobby replied, only to be greeted with a pinch of emotion at his side. It took him a moment to identify it: Uni. They had to leave Uni back in the realm… her absence would be a thorn. At Dylan's kind and helping touch, Bobby couldn't help but let a few tears out, and then a cascade of silent emotion.

"Hey kid, it's alright," Dylan said, not knowing what to do under the extreme emotion of the kid. "No real damage, you see? You're going to be good. You're going to be good."

"God, you all are lucky. We thought for sure that everyone on this car was a goner," Fred chattered to Bobby as he led him away. "It just fell. Simply fell. No loud noises. No rumbling quakes. The roof just gave in."

"Our parents…"

"We'll get you to them real soon, kid. First you guys need to be taken to the hospital for the checks. Amazing… hardly a scratch on you all. What luck…"

"Our parents?"

"Yes."

"Thank you," Bobby said, voice tight. It had been ages since another human beyond the group had shown any care for him, and the overall transition and this strange touch of human compassion was almost too much.

"Come on Sheila," Hank began, helping her out to follow the others. "Let's go home."

Ages later, it seemed, Hank found himself in the waiting room of the local hospital. The ER teams in the trauma bay had ushered them to separate rooms equipped with anything and everything in order to examine the ride victims upon their arrival (via ambulance). Yet, the worst wound they found themselves healing was a long scratch Presto received when stumbling out of the wreckage. Doctors had deemed them all physically and mentally stable, which, given the catastrophic and peculiar demise of the Dungeon's and Dragons ride, was something that would fuel the town gossip for years. Men and women of science simply shrugged their shoulders at the tearful parents before them in their respective rooms, citing 'divine intervention' and 'miracles'.

"You are most certainly lucky that Hank is alive," Dr. Kahl had told the Guilds, who were trying to keep their composure at the return of their son. "It took first responders 12 hours to safely reach the inner depths of the ride past the debris. It's unheard of. Honestly. The only bad thing that happened was that his contacts were in for too long." (He didn't need them that much, and in the realm had gotten by without them.)

According to officials, the ride had suddenly caved in. The theme park operator stated that there were no natural happenings that could have prompted such a freak accident, and the ride had passed all legal checks at the appropriate times. There weren't any earthquakes or tornadoes even in their state. Not a cloud in the sky. All other rides were operational and well during the collapse, so it wasn't an electrical problem… nothing seemed to prompt such a disaster except maybe bad luck. Nevertheless, the theme park was being sued, regardless of whose fault the collapse was. They felt fortunate, though, that Eric's parents were too apathetic to press legal charges. They had little hope of financial survival if that occurred.

Hank slipped from his hospital room while the adults discussed vital signs and the other medical things, making his way to the reception area. Even the little caressing and assistance from his parents felt smothering after three years of living independently. He probably knew how to fend for himself more than they did, at that point. While Hank was grateful to see them and loved them just as much (if not more) as the day he departed, after hours with them at his bedside, as odd as it was, he wished for more of that sacred independence.

He just needed… space. Maybe that was it. He convinced himself that he was totally happy at their choice to return. The pinching longing at his side and overwhelming sense of brokenness and separation was just his need for privacy for a moment, Hank told himself. It had nothing to do with missing the realm. Oh no, nothing at all. To be perfectly honest, Hank wasn't sure what he wanted anymore, and that scared him. Three years of sweat, hunger, and adventure were spent in the realm, vying for a chance home. That was the main focus of their lives: getting back. You ate longing, drank longing, slept longing, and breathed longing. Now that they had succeeded… well… did he want to go _back_? That sounded absolutely mental! Yet…

When he turned a corner (sneaking past the nurse's station: they would've asked questions), he was relieved to see two familiar faces. Eric and Presto sat alone amongst the magazines and empty chairs, chatting genially.

"Barely made it out of there," Hank smiled. "You'd think that after all we went through, we'd be treated more like adults."

"You _are _eighteen now, after all," Presto pointed out. Somehow in the real world, he seemed smaller. Everyone had gained muscle in the realm. Their schedule had no time for doddering or excess, and their plights required feats of strength. Yet, under the halogens of familiar human invention, Presto looked diminished without his wizard's hat and robes. Such a shame: they had to leave just as he was mastering spell-work.

"If only we had stayed for a few years more… I could've been the legal drinking age!" Eric lamented. "And tomorrow is a Monday. Remind me why we chose to come back?"

"Our families, Eric," Hank patiently supplied. Eric's glowing face sullied for a moment, and Hank's burned in shame. Of course: Eric's parents probably hadn't shown up. The young man Hank had seen outside of Eric's hospital room was probably their butler.

"And the food," Hank tried to recover.

"Oh damn, I have a history test in the morning, and after three years, I've forgotten all about the… whatever it was on," Presto moaned, trying to change the subject.

"Korean War."

"Shit! That!"

"I'm sure you're well versed in war tactics now, though," Eric jibed.

"Unlike you. You're versed in running away," Presto laughed, dodging a half-hearted punch that Eric sent his way.

"Maybe I'll just skip tomorrow…" Eric mused out loud. "If I saw Jimmy Whitaker in the hall, I don't know if I'd be able to restrain myself from strangling him."

"He called my card tricks dumb," Presto said flatly.

"To be perfectly honest, they kind of were."

"It would be rather conspicuous if we all skipped tomorrow," Hank lent. "Or all 'mysteriously' got sick."

Eric scowled. "Time drags in Mrs. Mordica's class. I seriously believe she rewinds the clock when we're not looking." Presto's face furrowed suddenly. "What? Was it something I said?"

"No… it's not you. It just occurred to me: the more time that passes in this world," Presto began, "an exponentially larger amount of time passes in the realm. Maybe not Venger or the Dungeon Master, but certainly everyone else will be dead if we choose to return in a few days, or years."

This was true. The group had made many allies in their quests, from Cloud Bears to lost children to illusionists. The entire group of children had left the realm, assuming that the time lapses were similar and that, when they chose to return, the realm would be waiting for them with the inhabitants only slightly aged. They actually had promised the Dungeon Master and several of their companions that: they promised that they would search for a reliable portal and visit often.

It was not practical to tear off every couple of hours, and even then, their comrades in the realm would slip quickly away. Obviously Presto would be heartbroken for Varla, the beautiful and gentle illusionist who was back in the realm, aging quickly before he could return to see her.

"Three years… three long, dangerous years there amount only to twelve hours here," he finished lamely.

"Boo-hoo," Eric interjected. "Cheer up; we're back in the states! Cheeseburgers and television and warm beds! I didn't know a trip through another dimension could make you such a sap."

"Don't disregard all of the connections we made there completely," Hank warned. "I'll be the first to admit… I will miss Aiyesha and her father. That was a happy reunion."

"Nostalgic fools," Eric scoffed.

"What about Lorne?" offered Presto. "You two were good friends." (Lorne was the holder of the Stone of Astera. When they left Lorne, he had found refuge in a group of nomads, where they assumed he had assimilated into).

Hank scoffed. "I think it's a blessing in disguise that those two are separated… there's only room for one annoying, arrogant git per realm."

"Plus… even if we wanted to, I don't see how we'd find another portal," Presto continued, still preoccupied with Varla and their allies in the realm. "The ride is caput. They're going to tear it down due to the structural damage. I overheard one of the policemen when the doctors were still running their tests."

"Fear not, young wizard." Time froze. The receptionist's bubble gum paused in mid pop. Diana came running from the other room (without as much grace: her sneakers had more traction than her cloth moccasins did).

"Hey! What's going on here?"

"Dungeon Master!"

The little man stood before Presto, his characteristic wide grin stretching from ear to ear. "I am pleased to hear of your devotion to the realm and its well-being," Dungeon Master began, patting Presto's forearm (he wasn't tall enough to reach anything higher). "I believe I have good news for you, if you are willing to receive it."

"Oh not again," Eric groaned. By then, Sheila and Bobby had wandered in, confused as to why their parents had frozen mid-word.

"Dungeon Master?" Bobby squealed.

"You're late to the party, as usual, Bobby," Eric jeered. The impish man continued, unfazed.

"A year has passed in the realm," Dungeon Master continued, smiling before all of his young students. Before others could speak, he raised his hand in a silencing gesture. "Varla and your comrades are well. However, the realm is facing serious problems… problems that we believe only you can solve."

"So what? We're a hotline now? Just pop into our lives every five seconds when something goes wrong there and ask for help?" Eric threw up his hands.

"It is your choice to go."

"What types of problems are you implying, Dungeon Master?" Sheila asked in her kind voice, in stark contrast to Eric's snark.

"Bad ones, obviously," he riddled. "But if you wish to come, the time is now."

A portal opened, like a rip in the air itself, revealing a tantalizing image of a shimmering valley. Around the rift, the air and objects seemed to ripple as though part of a body of water, and bright light shone around the edges of the opening. The magical doorway showed the image of a caravan with wooly-mammoth-like steeds at their side atop a large hill. A lone unicorn romped amongst the wild flowers in the foreground.

"Uni!" Bobby exclaimed. His mind was settled immediately. "I'm going."

"Bobby, think about your…"

"I'm going, Sheila."

"You've hardly stopped to think it th-"

"I've got to go."

"But what about mom and dad?" she asked as a last ditch effort to keep him with her in the comfort zone.

"Others need us."

"Mom and dad need us too!"

"Not in the same way as people in the realm."

"You want to go back into that danger zone? The war zone? Where they lock you up in volcanoes, mess with your psyche, and burn your homes?"

"You make it sound so terrible. Non-negotiable, sis: I'm going."

Considering this, a shift occurred in Sheila's eyes, and she let go of what little reluctance she held. With those words, he had roped Sheila in too. She knew he wouldn't miss an opportunity to be with Uni and to help the war effort, and if he was to tear off into another dimension, she wanted to be there to protect him. "I'll come, too," she said. There really was no option for her. "Just promise me that one day you'll think more about your decisions before you make them."

"I don't think I can offer you that quite yet," he replied levelly.

Hank didn't enjoy the idea of Sheila in the realm alone. Goodness knows Bobby was a good fighter… but he was just still so _small._ (Secretly, he had been hoping a portal would open anyways. He actually missed the adventure and independence that was roaming through those never-ending deserts.) Plus, and he hated thinking this way, it was unsafe for an attractive, teenage girl to be tearing around anywhere alone. That was simply reality. No matter in distant realms or realities or even back on Earth: there always would be people trying to take advantage. The mere thought… Hank would kill anyone who laid an unapproved finger on her.

"Me too," he decided. Also, if Sheila was injured in the realm (which there was a high probability of) without him there, he would feel personally responsible. "Any other takers?" He gave Presto a knowing glance. Three realm years ago, he never would've wished Presto back into the dangerous mess that was the realm. He simply wasn't strong enough of a wizard. But, given his last couple of months of sorcery, Hank actually believed Presto to be the strongest of the group, and would be able to fend for himself better.

The decision for Presto was almost as quick as Bobby's. On one hand, he could spend time with his friends, having adventures and performing real magic. On the other, he could go back to school, duck his head down in the halls to avoid others noticing him, and spend lonely nights in the library, waiting for his emotionally unattached mother to pick him up. Looking back, Presto wondered why he had even chosen to leave the realm in the first place.

"Count me in," he beamed, and Hank clasped him on the shoulder. Diana, never one to miss out on all of the fun, volunteered too.

"There's something not right by standing idle here," she said, offering an explanation to assure herself rather than the others.

"Cavalier?"

"Come on Eric…"

"Don't be a wuss…"

What was left on earth for Eric? An empty house? An apathetic father and indifferent mother? He had known his decision the moment he had entered the waiting room, the moment that he realized nobody had come to celebrate his homecoming. Hell, the moment his mind had started spinning as they left the realm in the first place he had had major doubts and regrets. Eric mustered a look of disgust, trying to play it cool.

"Ehhh… come on. We just got back!"

"Ericcc…."

"This world has AC and electricity and…"

"Come on! We need you!"

And that was all he needed. Someone to need him. To wish him around. He shrugged, as though it didn't mean the world to him. "Fine! Fine! I'll go."

There was a cheer and a sense of new adventure, as they stepped through to the other side together.


	3. Chapter 2: Reunion

The bright, near blinding light of midday from the realm's four suns bore down on their necks the moment the portal closed, and their eyes rapidly tried to adjust. Dungeon Master was nowhere to be seen in the scene: he had done his duty and prompted the Children of Power to the situation. That was enough.

"UNI!" Bobby cried almost as soon as he regained orientation of himself from the realm-travel. Uni looked up from her play, confused at the familiar voice, but her bewildered thoughts gave way to unadulterated glee at the realization of their arrival. She had grown in the year of their absence. So much, in fact, that she now towered over Bobby and would soon exceed Eric and Hank in stature.

Bobby seemed quite unfazed by the near-full grown unicorn charging at him: a sight that would've made the bravest of soldiers tremble in their armor. He, to the perplexity of the servants on the hill, ran towards the beast. Their reunion _could _be described here, but it was of such a poetic and overly-sentimental nature that the obnoxious details of their infatuations will be left to the imagination.

Much had changed in their time away from the realm, yet nothing at all. They were situated in a valley, with all of the colors washed out slightly by the noontime suns (perfectly aligned). Greens became yellow and yellow became scorched in the waves of heat that immediately greeted the children. Ahh… a 'Dragon's Day.'

Up on the hill rested a caravan of tents and large, billowing beasts that the children recognized from their travels through the Dustlands. Signature coarse hemp fabrics and their gangly movements were, however, not there for the reunion: this caravan was decked out in fine, flowing silks and satins. It was a caravan of kings. Small figures of people tarried on the outskirts of the gathering, their silhouettes clearly visible from the valley that the Children of Power had landed in.

"Let's join the caravan," Sheila cried, running towards the hill in the near distance where they could see the familiar shape of King Ramoud.

Ramoud had been one of their greatest companions in the realm previously, save for the Dungeon Master. Not only had he saved them from a deadly oasis, but Ramoud also had taken the group in as his own. He was a Dustlands merchant group leader and a ruler of an eastern empire (unbeknownst to them at the time). Together, they had rescued his daughter, Aiyesha, from the City at the Edge of Midnight. As a generous offering of thanks, Ramoud had supplied them with food, water, and transportation for weeks, and a feeling that someone else in the realm gave a damn.

While in the realm, he was the only person that seemed like a father figure. Dungeon Master was too absent and lofty, while other kindly faces gave them a pat on the back before disappearing. Never had anyone shown them as much acceptance or adoration as Ramoud, and they were glad to see him well. As with his daughter, Aiyesha, for whom they had gone through a lot of trouble to save.

"Ramoud?" Hank called as they approached the hill.

"Hank? Sheila?" Ramoud looked up from the distance, finally laying eyes on his old comrades. The crinkles on his tanned face scrunched up, delighted at the sight he saw before him. "My children, you have returned! Aiyesha! Come quickly: it is our friends!"

"Friends, father?" a coarse voice inquired from inside the tent. Aiyesha stepped out from a thick shelter, and smiled broadly at the group once they caught her eye. "Sheila!"

"Aiyesha!" Sheila exclaimed, running to meet her. The two embraced happily.

Varla, the illusionist, looked as though she was not present. Presto had once seen a vision of her while trekking through a marsh… she had been held captive by Venger and made to create illusions on her village so that the village looked as though it were suffering an agriculture hiatus. The children had freed her and lifted the illusion on the small town, and Presto could finally entertain the notion that someone might actually like-like him.

Maybe that victory was larger.

Eric couldn't help but notice the deep disappointment in the Magician's face as they neared the camp. No red-head wonder was waiting for him. A lot could've happened in the three years of their separation: goodness knows the Realm was a dangerous place to live in. Varla's village was to the south, in a marshy area where thieves and raiders were commonplace. Anything could've happened.

"I'm sure she's fine," he said to his friend, but Presto was beyond hearing.

"I didn't think she would be here anyways. I mean, Ramoud and her aren't really in the same region. I just…" He forced a smile and greeted some of the other comrades with as much forced happiness as possible.

"Cheer up Presto: she's a smart girl," Eric began, not really having practice with making people feel good. "I'm sure nothing went wrong." If only he actually believed it himself.

"Come here, my son," Ramoud said, wrapping Eric in a large bear hug when he noticed the teen shying away. Ramoud was inclusive… almost to the point of discomfort (but not quite). It startled Eric. He never had an adult treat him that way.

"Alright, none of that's totally necessary," he blushed, making sure that circulation still flowed to his fingers (Ramoud was a man of impeccable physical presence).

"It has been a year, my brother! And did you not miss me?" Ramoud laughed. "Come inside, my children," Ramoud beckoned, opening a nearby tent flap. "Let us discuss why you are here and what must be done. I am certain that you all are hungry from your travel between worlds. Dine with us."

"Don't need to ask us twice," Eric said giddily.


	4. Chapter 3: The Interruption

Before the story must continue, one must be adequately acquainted with the geography of the realm of Dungeons and Dragons.

In the three arduous years of travel, the Children of Power gained a vague knowledge of the land and all of its impossibly complex layers. Physical, metaphysical, magical, and otherwise… Many cartographers and anthropologists (most simply considered them scholars) spent their lifetimes just trying to figure out a corner of the universe and all of its layers. Most never truly did.

Never mind the other levels of the realm: in order for this story to continue, one must be familiar only with the physical attributes of the realm of Dungeons and Dragons.

The mainland of the planet (Planet Aaldore) that the Children of Power had landed on was called 'Sarinthis'. It is akin to Earth's different continents: just a large body of land surrounded by oceans and with different 'nations' or 'tribes' or 'governing bodies' within it. Escium was another continent that they had few encounters with. The rest need no mention here and were significantly less diverse and modernized than Sarinthis, to be brief.

In the continent, the geography was surprisingly simple. In the west, there were the great Isildras Mountains and rocky soil. The majority of manufacturing happened under the supervision of these towering giants. More heavily populated cities appeared here, centered about manufacturing plants. Mostly humanoids populated the area, but other species lived and worked here too (more integrated than in the east)… quite the variety of species, actually, save for the elves. Elves stayed far away from the west and its large cities and grimy inclusion. Areas like the Maze of Darkness could be found in the majestic folds of the west.

To the east, lay rolling hills and fertile land perfect for farming. Smaller towns formed around large plots of property, and many families remained put to help with harvest. Being the breadbasket of the continent was no easy feat… the labor was hard and toiling. People segregated more in the east: the only people you could trust was your family. While the cities of the west had high crime rates, here in the fields, nobody was present to protect you. 'Friendships' did not seem to truly exist. People minded their own business without much fuss, thank you very much.

Turad, the City of Light, was in the east (more east than Ramoud's land, and a little south). The skies were clear there: perfect for star gazing. Tardos was also east. Krelm Valley, the Hills of Never (near the Citadel of Shadows: the only really ominous fortress there… the sun cannot penetrate everywhere): all took residence amongst the gentle slopes and farmland.

The north held forests, while the south held marshes (intermingled with either mountains or grasslands, depending how east or west these forests or marshes were). The treacherous marshes held sturdy towns that the Children of Power had visited often (most of their adventures were southwest): Mindrel, Shalderon, and Cloud Bear territory all were present in the thick, swampy lagoons. The infamous Swamp of Shadows took up most of the area, with the Grottel of Darkness inside it as well as some of Venger's prison-camps.

A major river, the Alicorn, cut the continent in half, flowing from west (elevated land) to the east (it suddenly went south after going 3/4ths the way of the country… an odd position that geographically made no sense… the shape of the Alicorn was the thesis for many scholarly articles). Sending goods from east to west against the current was extremely expensive. Not to mention that, in the heart of Sarinthis, there lay the Dustlands, which made trade nearly impossible for non-professionals.

The Dustlands: miles and miles of nothing but terrible desert. Many theories exist as to why it was there, where the best soil logically should be. Scholars cite ancient warfare that burned fields and depleted the nutrients in the soil. Zealots believe that a fairy queen cast a spell that created the wasteland in order to separate the industries from the farms, to keep the people from collaborating and becoming stronger than she. Romanticists quote that a king (with magical abilities) swore away all forms of water in the central area of the country to keep himself from crying after the brutal deaths of his family.

Whatever the reason, the Dustlands were there. In the center of the country there were no cities. No towns. Nomads, tribes, and gang organizations ran the center, and facilitated the trade between east and west. They were constantly warring and grappling for power: politically, it was a nightmare. No one could, at any time, state who was in power and with how much.

Ramoud's kingdom was in the east, but, like many prosperous kings, he had the resources available to him to travel through the Dustlands. He typically avoided them and was wary of the troubles there, but he had to enter them to find Aiyesha (which was where he met the Children of Power).

Venger's castle was southwest… hidden by mountains and surrounded by swamps. His palace was near Varla's small village. The southwest was a nightmare of a place to live in, and the people were known for their stubbornness and resolve. You had to have those attributes to merely wake up each morning: disease spread through the marshes like wildfire. Bandits and monsters ran rampant, devouring people and burning villages in their wake.

No wonder Presto worried so.

A word on monsters: monsters (and I beg pardon for skipping around, but there is much to comprehend before we move onwards), in realm-terms, were considered as parasites. To Aaldore, some creatures simply were not natural inhabitants of the land. Vampires, zombies, etc. all fell under this umbrella. In ancient history, they had migrated from their respective planets (using magic and all of the above) to prey on organisms without the proper defensive mechanisms to stop them.

Now, the battle between monster and not in Sarinthis has reached some sort of middle. For every citizen killed, one monster is either imprisoned or murdered also. The people treat the monsters as foreign invaders. They have the option, at any time, to return to their homelands, but choose not to. Those that cannot be killed are imprisoned.

A minor planet just within a suitable magic-trafficking distance is Helvietus: the prison planet. En masse, each year, all prisoners and monsters are sent there. They serve sentences (usually with extraordinarily long times) there, and then are given transport back to their own lands or other forms of adequate punishment. However, until the large cargo ship of offenders is able to leave (during the winter eclipse), the monsters are held on Aaldore in numerous high-security holds.

Escium (which is nomadic deserts for the most part: they're the biggest trade partner with plentiful Sarinthis for this reason [they have precious natural resources: the realm's equivalent to our oil]) there are many of these prisons. You can't really hurt many in empty deserts, now can you? Sailors that ship prisoners from the Sarinthis mainland to Escium are paid dearly, but it's a dangerous job.

In Sarinthis, the main keep lies in the mountains to the west… near the western coast. The mountains make it hard for escape, but expensive to run. Most of the prisoners live there. So do many guards and operators: magicians, soldiers, and architects. The need for resources to keep the prison running led to the creation of Etreos a few miles away: the largest city in Sarinthis now. It is the capitol of one of the larger domains in the continent (3x the size of Ramoud's) with the most manufactured goods exports in Aaldore.

Sure, it was a nice place. Beautiful sunrises over the mountains. Starry, clear skies at night. Not too warm during the midday (like in the scorching east). Great place to start a family, they say. More people began to do so as time went on. There was good business there… good money to be made. And hey: when Venger turned after the era of the Children of Power, why not settle in the west? His palace, once freakishly close to Etreos now was a beacon of light. Venger had turned into a sort of super-police power that would help rather than hurt, and populations in the west grew seemingly overnight.

It's a nice place. Good food. Friendly company… or as good as you could find in the realm. And the entrance to Etreos Prison was out of sight by a large mountain, so people put that thought out of their minds. Put out the thought of 200,000 bloodthirsty killers behind those iron doors. Don't mind _that_. Just remember not to haggle too much with the baker, or you won't get service anymore.


	5. Chapter 4: Reunion (redux)

"So, why are we here, Ramoud?" Hank wanted to know. They were seated amongst plush cushions and circled around a large, wooden slat that served as a table. Water dripped from the roof of the tent: servants had soaked the fabrics so that cool water fell down on occasion upon the heated inhabitants. What with four of the realm's suns aligned (it was called a 'Dragon's Midday' due to the scorching weather), as they did once every two realm months, the heat within the tents was nearly unbearable. However, the quality of the company made up for it in tenfold. Dining was comfortable and the food was lavish when they were with Ramoud. He owned his own kingdom, after all.

"Aiyesha, please fetch the contents of the safe. Have no servant assist you and come right back," Ramoud instructed before lighting a pipe that emitted magenta smoke, his brow furrowing. He gave the children a somber stare, thinking deeply about something, before exhaling a plume of tinged air. "I had sincerely hoped to never see you all again, with all respect. You deserved a safe existence back on your planet. Truly, I am sorry."

"We missed you too," Eric jibed (Diana, next to him, sent him a swift elbow to the lower rib). Ramoud only frowned.

"It's worse than you'd think. I'm afraid for your lives," he said very plainly, which shut everyone up nicely. "There is great unrest in the realm. Dungeon Master thought the situation so grave as to call you back from your world. It was not his intention to bring you back after you freed Venger."

"You've been working with the Dungeon Master?"

He smiled weakly. "Indeed. He cashed in a favor. The realm is in turmoil now. Would you wish to dine first, or discuss?" Everyone chose discuss except for Eric, who grumpily leaned back against the plush throws and remained stonily silent. The servants, seeing a signal from their master, obediently cleared out of the tent, the last one closing the flap behind him. They would have things to gossip about for months: the master and his powerful friends and the resistance! Something big was underfoot!

"Where to begin? I… ah! Aiyesha!"

"You began the tale without me, father," the princess gently scolded, re-entering the tent with a large canvas bag in her arms, bulging with its contents. After undoing the coarse cord that held the sack together, she displayed six the Weapons of Power. Each was distributed to its owner, and they glimmered with power at the touch of their respective Child of Power.

"Hardly! You are just in time, my daughter!"

Their Weapons of Power were sparkling and clean… preserved like artifacts in a museum. A handsome sheath covered Hank's bow and Eric's shield, while an ornate box inlaid with precious gems held Sheila's magical cloak of invisibility. Bobby's club had received special wood treatment (by the dryaids, according to Ramoud), and Presto's magical hat had been cleaned and the hems redone. Diana's javelin had been shined so it was painful to look at.

Aiyesha quickly handed them off, as though touching the items burnt her hands. "The power in them," she explained, seeing quizzical looks, "is extremely strong. It has been so since you left. They are dangerous for others who do not know how to operate them."

"Dungeon Master confiscated those after your absence," Ramoud continued, smiling as each child began looking over their weapons like a long lost friend. "He didn't want to risk them getting into the wrong hands, and wisely so. When he came to me days ago and gave them to me for safekeeping, I knew he would summon you all."

Hank strung an arrow, feeling a feeling of warmth rush over his fingertips and through his body like an electric shock. The arrow was larger and brighter than the ones he had created before in the realm… more lethal looking. Somehow all of the Weapons of Power had that impression: they were no longer items to be explored by ignorant, Earth children. Now, the Children of Power were more mature in their magical abilities, and it was time that their resources reflected that.

"We'll be targeted," Hank said flatly. "Our presence here must tip off the enemy. The magical energy is nearly palpable." He made his arrow disappear, realizing that Aiyesha had been holding her breath in fear. "Thank you for keeping these safe. We owe you. Now… you were saying?"

"There is a man in the west, in the city of Etreos named Thorne who has just risen to power. We think that he has ties to the exponentially increased number of monster attacks in the east," Ramoud said solemnly.

"He is creating a monster uprising of a sort," Aiyesha cut in, darkly. "Vampires. Hobgoblins. Shadow Demons. Zombies."

"Orcs too?"

"No. Orcs lack leadership qualities, so they never have been major independent threats. They are instead crooks for hire." (Given their pathetic capacity to problem solve during combat situations, which the Children had witnessed first-hand, this information was hardly surprising.)

"Obviously not all monsters could be herded into Helvietus," Ramoud said. "People mostly stay by the main roads, unlike you all. I am sure you all encountered numerous variations of beasts on your journeys. However, generally the more well-known and more dreadful of the monsters have been under lock and key due to capital crimes (severe crimes against humanoids, elf-folk, and other benign species natural to the realm). Monster-control has been… disastrous, to say the least in the past few months… too many attacks have happened recently to just be rogues or uncaught beasts. We think that someone is actually letting them _out._ But this is only in the east, where there are no monster prisons. Which implies that there is one mastermind running the show."

"It has caused much speculation that… that it's some sort of conspiracy against Sarinthis itself. Or even Aaldore," Aiyesha said.

"And Thorne appears to be in the center of it?" Hank clarified.

"Yes."

"It is uncertain regarding Thorne's motives. He seems to be directing the monsters' wrath on only certain villages. We don't believe most of these accusations to be true. Vampires and ghouls and these advanced monsters are very hard to control, unlike Orcs. They seek their own prosperity, and care little for alliances or pacts with anyone, especially humans from this realm.

"Thorne must have some ulterior motive that is driving this. Either way, the eastern stretches of the realm are under direct attack and invasion from this. Including our kingdom." There was a moment of respectful silence. It was amazing to Hank how Ramoud would leave his kingdom during a time of siege. He really must've had that much faith in the Children of Power to deem them more important than his subjects. It was… flattering, but petrifying information.

"Which is why the Dungeon Master brought you all back here… you're supposed to support us and the health of the realm," Aiyesha said at last. "Join on the side of the Resistance. Small armies and battalions have assembled, but we needed your Weapons."

"What we need now," said Ramoud, "is magical support. Your weapons and your presence here is not a natural thing for the realm, either. It gives us a distinct advantage. Many have tried and failed to infiltrate Thorne's systems, but your Weapons and skillset have the potential to turn the tide.

"We're proposing a relief group to move into the east while a special hit group to move into the west. The number of monsters in the east is putting a great burden on the farmers, and food production is at an all-time low. We think that Thorne is trying to starve out the region before taking over. The group going west will need to find Thorne's location and simply more information on him. The Resistance is not asking you to slay him… we are almost certain that Thorne is not a human, therefore maintaining some special powers."

"This situation just gets better and better," Eric said before receiving a good elbow thrown by one of the other children.

Ramoud seemed apparently (and conveniently) deaf to all of Eric's snark. "Whichever path you choose, we need to begin moving tomorrow or the day after at the latest. I was expecting you all, to an extent, but earlier. Thorne is expected to initiate a war soon, at the peak of his power. Helvietus is scheduled to be the closest to Aaldore it has been in centuries in one month's time (26 realm days = 1 realm month). That is when we believe that Thorne intends to perform the coup and we must absolutely stop him beforehand. If we wait, it might be too late to change anything."

What an information dump! Every mind in the tent was spinning by the end of the briefing, so that Diana needed to get up and pace. Her nervous energy reminded the seated of the enormous task that Ramoud was proposing. To stop monster attacks deliberately was completely different from bumping into them and playing defense. It took strategy and sheer force, whereas their gallivanting in the realm earlier had only prepared them to protect themselves.

And then to find a potential super-monster? Stop a war? Staying alive in the realm for a day was heroic enough!

"I'll go west," Sheila said quickly, feeling the tension. "My cloak will do nothing in the east but aid myself. In the west, I'll be able to track suspicious persons and sneak into the castles."

The Children of Power had noticed a definite switch in Sheila. She was a young woman now, but was dependent on Hank and Diana for protection, for her cloak did nothing for offensive power and she had neither the force nor strength to inflict much damage upon enemies. Roles had switched some time back on earth too. No longer was she the protector of Bobby, but he had begun tending to _her._

"I'm going with Sheila," Bobby declared without hesitation… it was almost a given that the two of them would travel together. Hank and Sheila also came in a pair, since Hank felt oddly protective of her lately…

"Magician, we think your skillset will be better utilized in the east," Aiyesha said gently. "In the west, magicians such as you are lynched daily for use of unauthorized magic: your powers would put your comrades at a greater risk."

"I get the idea," he agreed.

"Lynched?" Eric paled.

"People are suspicious in the west, and sorcery frightens them. They fight what is unknown. Pretty much the entire west is in turmoil with Thorne at the helm. All magicks are seen by the locals as monsters and monstrous doings in disguise."

"The whole continent is in turmoil," Aiyesha amended.

"I'll go with Presto," Eric offered. "Someone's got to keep the twit safe from himself."

"I'm with Hank and them," Diana declared, and Eric's hopes fell to his knees. "In the east, we have many allies and friends, but in the west, we will be alone and outnumbered."

"And we can try and pick up Varla and Lorne on the way," Presto added. "For more numbers on the eastern front."

"You two will be able to take care of yourselves without my person… maybe," Diana concluded.

"Very modest," Eric shot back. "Are you sure?" He secretly wished that she would come with them… maybe watch him perform some feats of strength and acts of valor…

Diana shook her head. "I'm sure."

The schism was settled, then. Nobody was exactly pleased with the idea of splitting up across Sarinthis, but there seemed to be no other option. Uni naturally was to follow Bobby to Thorne's capitol, Etreos, in the west.

"And of you, Aiyesha? Ramoud?" Diana asked after the majority of them had decided their paths.

Ramoud sighed deeply. "I must return to my kingdom in the east and help end the attack there. Aiyesha, it is your decision on your fate."

"I feel called to go west, with the Ranger. I know the geography well, and they do not. The east is easier to move around, while the gorges and slinking trails in the mountains are especially treacherous for those ignorant of the path. And maybe I can be of assistance and use our name to gain favors in the west." Ramoud didn't look overly pleased to be separated from his daughter, but he knew better than to try and stop her when she had settled her mind (just like his wife! All the same!).

"I will tell my servants to ready our travelling things, and we can be off as early as midday tomorrow," Ramoud finished. He tried his hardest to put on a winning smile, seeing the worried faces before him. "Until then, I aim to expose you all to realm delicacies. After hearing of your numerous feats in the past years, I believe you all had little opportunity for beauty and decadence." He clapped his palms, like large tiger paws, and the servants came back into the tent, this time with steaming dishes and silverwares.

"God, finally!" Eric exclaimed, and they leisurely dined with one another until the sun went down. The social took the rest of the afternoon away, but it passed quickly, as it would be the last time the group would be together for a while.

Diana heard the sounds of small pebbles being thrown at her tent and woke immediately, defensive instincts already settling back in. Ramoud had six extra canvas tents set up quickly for their convenience after their meal (and pounds of blankets and pillows: during a 'Dragon's Midday', the nights were especially cold and biting), and everyone had turned to bed early. Long travels were in their near future: sleep was necessary. Soon, they would be travelling on the dangerous roads, and any moment of exhaustion was an invitation for death.

Diana never slept without her javelin, which was in her hand before she was really awake. More pebbles kept hitting the light fabrics, and Diana saw the faint shadow of the thrower from the pale moonlight that slipped into her lodging. Curiosity won over, and Diana sneaked into the sheen of the three moons, only to see Eric with small rock in his hand.

"Guilty as charged," he said, shooting her a crooked smile and holding his hands up in surrender.

"What are you doing up so late?" she hissed, worried that she might wake the others in the adjoining tents.

"Can't sleep." That was apparent. "I was going to go for a small walk. Care to join me?" Diana almost said no, but his pleading eyes won her over. Eric wasn't used to pleading for things, and the lost look on his face was simply pitiful.

"Why not?" she shrugged, but warily stepped out of her tent. Since Kosar had left her a few years back, Diana had been careful about her emotions and wary of the feelings of others. The starry night had been too painful for her to look at sometimes, and she would waste hours lying awake after her comrades had fallen asleep wondering which star in the unfamiliar constellations was the star that Kosar's planet revolved around. Billions of miles away, she almost felt him reaching for her across the void too.

It was obvious Eric's affections for her. In the last year in the realm, it had been increasing apparent. She needed to extinguish his feelings before they could grow into anything bigger, and save the lot of them pain.

Eric and Diana had not started their relationship out on good terms. Mostly back at school, she knew him only as the arrogant brat that acted superior to everyone, and was surprised that Hank had even invited him to come to the theme park that day. The only good she knew Eric to be responsible of was his odd protection of Presto (or at least their timid alliance)… and even then he was a lack-luster friend. Apparently, Hank wasn't as cynical as she, and pitied the lonely boy. Over time, the six of them, though from different worlds it seemed, grew close.

Too close, almost. Eric's 'secret' glances revealed themselves quite early on. His infatuation was sweet, but, frankly, unwanted.

"Beautiful night," Eric said simply as they walked away from the rows of tents. She grunted in response. "This seems like the biggest adventure we've ever set out upon." That was really saying something, considering the crazy missions Dungeon Master had once given them.

"I'll say. It seems like Sarinthis is on the brink of war."

"And they expect us to be leaders in it," Eric sighed. "I talked to Dungeon Master."

That was a twist. "About what?"

"You." Diana's heart sunk to her toes. So she had guessed correctly. Eric had called her out that night to discuss his feelings for her.

"And what did the Dungeon Master have to say?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice normal. Eric's lips smiled, but his eyes were tortured and heavy.

"Kosar is in Etreos. He's back in the realm." Diana stopped in her tracks. Kosar? In Sarinthis? For a moment in time, it made absolutely no sense to her, but as the fact sunk in, her heart soared once more and she hugged Eric tightly.

"This is wonderful!"

"Isn't it?" he said, not crabbily but… glumly?

"Oh Eric, thank you!" Diana said, her voice softening as she saw pain in his eyes.

"You're not blind. You know how I feel," he began, and started them walking again. "But I talked to Dungeon Master and thought a lot about it and… though I like you, I don't think we would ever be happy together. We want such different things and are such different people… besides telling you about Kosar, I just wanted to let you know just where I stood with this before we tore off to different ends of the continent. In case if… you know… the unthinkable happens or something."

Diana's throat constricted. Eric, the vain and clueless Cavalier was growing up before their eyes, and growing wise at the same time. He wasn't as egotistical to be giving her his blessing for her and Kosar, but by stating that he would pretty much no longer be pursuing her, Diana felt a great amount of irrational guilt being lifted from her chest. Maybe there were salvageable bits of their friendship left to last… she was sure that there were. If not, there would be soon.

"Thanks, Eric." She hugged him again, this time holding on for longer as things unspoken between them hung in the air. The stars were less dense when they broke apart… but both of their hearts were denser with the complexity of the human nature. "And goodnight."

"Goodnight, Diana," he said. A beat. "The stars really are beautiful tonight." He then led her back to her tent and retreated back to his without another word.

It was the early morning, and Hank had packed as much food and supplies as their horses could carry and drawn a path to Etreos with Aiyesha (which was folded neatly and kept in his back pocket). Ramoud's servants had been as good as gold, and the entire caravan (minus the tents) was ready to leave as soon as the first sun broke above the horizon line.

Presto and Eric decided that they would go to Tardos first: it was a large, important city with many magical resources that they didn't want falling to Thorne's hands. Aiyesha made the map for that journey, which Hank had a copy of too, just in case. Diana seemed overeager to leave, and Hank saw no real reason for delay the moment the tents were down.

"I guess we're actually doing this," Presto said abstractedly as he wasted time trying to find things to repack. The last time the Children of Power had separated, it had been their last adventure before leaving the realm. Eric, Presto, and Sheila had almost died… Hank remembered the feeling of something missing all too well. There was a reason they were brought into the realm _together_ the first time.

"I really don't like you guys going off on your own," Sheila mothered. "I'm afraid that if one of the monsters doesn't get to you, then you'll just end up killing each other!"  
"You sure you don't need more people?" Diana asked them, ready to change if she was sincerely needed elsewhere.

"We'll be fine, I think. We're going to find Varla first… quickly. Her illusions will help us when we meet back up in the west and start pulling apart Thorne's lies," Presto explained. "Three's not a bad number. Maybe if we see other allies of ours in the east we'll team up. Lorne… I don't know. But the focus needs to be on the west and the coming war."

"We're better when we're together," Hank agreed. "But at the moment, we need to split up. It's for the best. Take care. Make sure Eric doesn't do anything too stupid."

"I can't make any promises."

"Are you ready, my son?" Ramoud asked him, and the Magician nodded, giving the man a warm hug.

"Be safe," Hank told Eric and Presto as they all embraced each other before mounting their respective steeds.

"If anything goes wrong, we'll go to Etreos," Presto said. "And we'll meet you there."

"Sounds like a plan," Sheila laughed. "We love you guys! Goodbye!" The two groups diverged onto their different paths, called by unseen forces to their destinies. Ramoud's group left later that day, by a different route east than the one that Presto and Eric were taking. He prayed that Dungeon Master was right in calling the Children of Power back from earth… their being in the realm was a desperation move. Their very presence was sure to stir up trouble amongst the monsters, and no doubt that Thorne and his armies would be on red alert of their wonderful Weapons of Power.

While he hoped times were not so bad, Ramoud couldn't kid himself. There had been many a better day and few worse ones in the realm. He simply hoped that the children could pull through the disaster. If they didn't… well… we didn't really want to think about those prospects.


	6. Chapter 5: Adrianos

"We need to find-"

"I know. I know. We need to find Varla first. I know," Eric groaned. They had taken off early from Ramoud's caravan, hoping to make a quick journey to Tardos in the east. It was only a week or so away given that they had fresh horses (a luxury they had failed to acquire in their earlier stint across Sarinthis) and on relatively easy terrain. The skies were open and clear, the Dragon's Midday a thing of the past. Light breezes wafted past, carrying foreign smells of the realm wildflowers.

"Not because I merely miss her," Presto lied. "But we need numbers wherever we go. More than that: she has magical talent. That's what Ramoud said would give us an advantage. I guess we could spend time looking for Lorne, but he's with a nomadic group so their location is uncertain."

"But Varla's village is south-west, in the marshes near Venger's place. That's the exact opposite of where we're going."

"She relocated," Presto said simply.

"How do you know?"

"I can feel it." Eric suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"You're a weird dude, Albert."

"Same with you. Same with you."

_They hadn't met conventionally. Eric and Presto._

_Actually, Eric had kind of been cheating off of Presto's Spanish test. Most of Eric's assignments were copied off of other people or from the internet and he had gotten lazy with his rule breaking… but how could he help himself? He sat next to the biggest nerd in the entire school for over half of his classes! Who wouldn't be tempted?_

_ Senora Rivera was, to be short, not pleased. More like livid. Eric had but so many second chances with the faculty, and had finally stepped over the boundary. The Senora merely had to tap both of them on the shoulder and beckon them outside for Eric's heart to drop to his knees._

_ "You two will go to Principal Darcy's," she said in her thick, Columbian accent. She held up a few of Eric and Presto's past test, trembling in anger. "So many answers on these are the same, too. I was going to bring it up after the repeat offenses, but then I caught you in the act! Off to the administration hall. The both of you!"_

_ Damn the preterite tense._

_Darcy was not known for clemency towards cheaters. She had a school to run, not a circus, and preferred to apply Machiavellian techniques on her pupils: strike down the brats first, so that they never disobey again. The charge of expulsion and suspension was not unfamiliar to her and tears only made her conviction stronger in the verdicts._

_ "How do you know it wasn't Presto cheating off of me?" Eric huffily retorted as the principal condemned him to morning detentions for the rest of the school year, cut his membership for their sports teams for the year, and a 0 for the three test grades that he had cheated on (they hadn't caught him for two)._

_ "_Albert _(only the teachers and his mother actually called him by his real name: the teachers to give the boy some dignity, and his mother to take it away) is a straight A honor student who has consistently proved himself to be a respectable young man. On the other hand, you have yet to meet our expectations." Principal Darcy harshly chided. "As low as they were to begin with."_

_ "Mrs. Darcy, that's unreasonable." Presto's own voice surprised him. He had not heard it much. Eric was floored. The nerd… looking out for _him? _Not even his father did that…_

_ "Albert-"_

_ "Perhaps he isn't fully equipped to meet those expectations." Presto sounded rather unsure of this answer, scared of the repercussions it could have. Patricia Darcy did her best to hold in her guffaw._

_ "What is he lacking, Albert? Pray tell me."_

_ "Support and encouragement." Darcy didn't quite know if she should take that comment to personal offense. It was nearly out of line and possibly offensive to both the school and Eric, but the convicted was vigorously nodding his head so that it hurt her own neck just looking at him._

_ "Fine. Fine. One morning detention then. But you will need to take Spanish over the summer, Eric. There's an entry fee, but I doubt your family will have problems with that. Excuse me while I get the forms." Darcy left the posh office, leaving the two boys amongst her framed degrees and obnoxious family photos alone. (Darcy instead went straight for the nurses, popped three Benadryl with a cup of coffee and stalled there.)_

_ …_

_ …_

_ …_

_ "It's really Senora Rivera's fault," Eric said at last. "Who's stupid enough to put you in the middle of the room, where everyone can see your papers? Honestly. No common sense."_

_ "I guess that's your form of a compliment, so I'll take it."_

_ "But did you see Darcy? Such a terrible jerk to me and I don't understand why. She's all 'rules, rules, rules, and good character' but then she has the audacity to insult her students."_

_ "She has been rather hypocritical in the past," Presto agreed. "She punishes everyone but the real problems. By the way, sorry this happened," Presto said from his slumped position in one of the office chairs, as if this whole ordeal was his fault._

_ "Forget it."_

_ "I could tutor you if you want?" Eric recoiled (visibly) from the suggestion so that Presto never offered it again._

_ "Okayyy."_

_ "You're lucky I didn't kick the crap out of you for saying those things about me," Eric said, but Presto didn't worry. The raven haired boy hardly seemed like the type to follow up on threats of the physical nature (unfortunately unlike most of the boys in their grade). He had seen Eric in the hallways: he had a terribly sour attitude, but he was harmless._

_ "Some people have problems with the truth," he lent just as Darcy returned._

_ Some radical social shift did not occur that day. Eric did not go back to his big and powerful friends and tell them to stop picking on Presto. Presto did not suddenly become included in the social circles. Actually, the next day he was put in a trash can and rolled down the hill next to the school (it was after a home football game, which usually were bad nights for him)._

_But the next day, when Jimmy Whitaker threw his French fry at Presto's hair, Eric left his table to sit with the quiet kid in the corner of the lunch room where the halogen lights had ceased burning._

"Finding your girlfriend better not get us killed," Eric griped, always a couple of feet behind his companion. "Or I'll murder you."

"I fail to see the logic there," Presto quipped back, on high alert. They were nearing the eastern town he felt that Varla had moved to. While Eric and Dianna had spent their night in the caravan talking about love and letting go, Presto had received a vivid dream of a village, and the strong notion that the image and Varla somehow were connected. And he got one word: Adrianos.

Magic simply did not like Presto. He was, frankly, awful at it at first. Nothing he ever tried worked, and his sincerest attempts at spell-work sounded more like sour poetry than sorcery. But he loved it… though it killed him and his bravado, he loved magic more than anything else. He appreciated and respected the power to change what normal men couldn't. To make better and rebuild. To rise about situations.

It was this respect that had opened the door for Presto at long last. Though he never told the other Children of Power, he had begun getting vivid visions and premonitions in his sleep (and even as he was awake) as his power grew. The first one that manifested itself so strongly was Varla's presence. The rest he kept as secret as possible, worried what they might lead to.

Apparently they led Adrianos. Wherever that was.

The incessant talking would not let up! Secretly, Presto really appreciated the cause for distraction. If you could build a callous around your mind to block out the majority of Eric's talking, he wasn't all that bad company. Dumb and pitiful. That was all most of the time when he had time to spare. In battle, there was no one in all the realms Presto would rather be with.

Plus: he made a great focus stealer. Whenever Presto had a time to let his mind wander, all he could think about were the awful things that could've happened in their absence. Burned villages. Bloodied and broken Varla lying in an alley, accompanied by a cruel track of laughter from her anonymous killer. He could only hope it wasn't another premonition but his overactive imagination.

When in the realm, boundaries always were blurred. Usually, the land was split up into areas controlled by a certain ruler. They usually lived within a larger city and governed from there, and had control of smaller, unassuming towns. These towns experienced power changes all of the time when their rulers were usurped: they were the ones first plundered and attacked. The elite remained safe during times of instability, while the poor were most vulnerable.

Understandably, things in the marshy south were even worse. Up north was more prosperous: elven territory was there, and the species always seemed to bring fortune to those they favored. It was a magical, mysterious element that no non-elf could ever understand. Also, in the south, there were miles and miles of marshy land. It was terrible for farming and prone to disease = poorer incomes and more easily plundered and toppled towns. That was the mess that Presto had met Varla in, and he didn't blame her for moving to the gentle hills and large farmlands that he saw in the east. But anything could've happened since her supposed arrival in Adrianos. More pillaging. Monster attacks like what Ramoud described. Plague.

Nothing was off the table yet. The ever-irritating hum of Eric's voice could keep him from drifting off into the embrace of those frightening images and thoughts.

Jumping back to reality, Eric was on a rant about the realm and how it couldn't keep itself out of trouble for a year without them.

"Eric," Presto interrupted abruptly, "out of curiosity, are you physically able to shut up for at least a minute?"

"I can. Doesn't mean I will."

"It's actually possible?"

"Ass."

"Sticks and stones, Eric. Sticks and stones." To prove his point, he hefted a handful of pebbles with a wave of his hand. Eric tried to hide it in his face, but he was impressed. Not that he would ever give Presto the satisfaction of knowing that.

"Telekinesis?"

"Nah. I just summoned some extra breeze to move upwards beneath them using my hat and a silent spell. Nothing that fancy yet."

"The 'yet' implies that you're going to do more magic. We're screwed."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence, Eric."

"You're more powerful now. Our magic really is bursting."

The journey to Adrianos passed quickly. Presto kept them steadily on the path towards Tardos, planning to detour if they had sufficient time. Before Varla, whether in mortal danger or not, they needed to protect the Dragons Bane in Tardos: a plant capable of warding off rogue dragons. With Tiamat known to be on the enemy's side, it was pertinent that they had that resource protected. He continually told himself that the mission was more important than Varla as an individual, and he would have to sacrifice finding her for the greater good.

He continually lied to himself.

When they had covered over half the journey in only two days, he took Eric down a side road, following an internal compass he couldn't begin to understand. Adrianos was etched into the sign (in many different languages), pointing at the trail. The premonitions needn't tell him the way past then. It lay in a valley, edged with dying crops and blackened soil. Adrianos was no more than a cluster of homes, huddled together like survivors after a terrible war. A thick palisade wall surrounded it, made of flimsy pieces of sharpened wood that would only serve to keep animal invaders out, and not an actual attack.

"I can't say this is much more of an improvement as far as living spaces go," Eric said, looking down at the sad town. "While I would love to be there for the romantic reunion, it'd be best if we didn't take additional chances by having more than necessary flaunt around the town. Keep it low key and I'll set up a rendezvous camp a little past the tree break on the hill."

"And hopefully I'll bring back company," Presto said, eyes glazed over. His gaze rested on the settlements, wondering which one belonged to the Illusionist. Quickly he took off his wizard's robes, leaving only his darker undershirts and pants. The slippers were exchanged for a pair of hardy work boots that Ramoud had given him, and a fraying gray coat went over top of the ensemble. Best not to attract attention. They still were supposed to be undercover.

Not being dumb, Presto tucked his hat into the belt of his pants, in case he came across trouble. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it. Beyond that, he appeared to be a normal traveller.

"You look ordinary enough," Eric commented, helping his friend change and adjust to the new clothes. "Just leave your horse with me and walk down." Mechanically, Presto obeyed, face white as Uni's flank and hands drawn into tight fists. He robotically moved down the rise to the town gates, his feet moving in autopilot.

The guards waved him in after he sprouted his weak excuse for his entrance (a travelling merchant) and pulled open, with much labor, the gate.


	7. Chapter 6: Blackmoor and the Talisman

Hank was not disillusioned. The Dungeon Master had simply disappeared.

This was, oddly enough, not a rare occurrence. Dungeon Master seemed to have his own agenda, and popping in and out after brief delivering brief riddles was the norm.

He, Diana, Bobby, Uni, Sheila, and Aiyesha had been eating their breakfast sullenly, already four days into their journey to Etreos, when Dungeon Master appeared, walking from behind one of the bushes (they were in a forest… unlike Eric and Presto, their group was actually going deeper into the woods). His appearance scared Sheila silly, who had thought that some other forest monster was coming to attack them, as they had already encountered a few small but vicious creatures in their journey.

"Greetings," the Dungeon Master said amiably.

"Dungeon Master!"

"Do you have any news?" Hank wanted to know first. "How are Presto and them? Have they found Varla? And Ramoud?" he added for Aiyesha's sake.

"In as much or as little danger as the rest of Sarinthis," the tiny man replied good-naturedly, which Hank took to mean that they were doing fine so far. He wouldn't have riddled them if they were dead… at least, he hoped. "I have come to help you. You seek to topple Thorne's reign, I hear."

"Correctly."

The Dungeon Master was a mysterious man… or thing. Or whatever species he was… the Children didn't really know. When they had been pulled into the realm, the squat wizard had been staring at them from a respectful distance of about two inches away, beaming from ear to ear as though their presence in a hot, dangerous, brutal, foreign land filled with thousands of beasts bent on killing them was a pleasant thing. Like they had showed up for tea on time and would break into the finger sandwiches soon.

Even after his constant guidance, the Children of Power knew little about the Dungeon Master. He had two children: a daughter, Karina (who Eric kind of hit on when they first met), and Venger. That was all they knew.

However, his knowledge seemed to stretch across the galaxies. With each quest, he provided the Children with perplexing riddles and advice to achieve some end goal as well as to find another portal home (they missed almost every opportunity but cleaned up the realm for the Dungeon Master… to their annoyance).

Giving up on him was a common conversation topic. Why risk your life? Why do the dirty work for a wizard who _knew _the answers, but wouldn't dish it? Because he could potentially get you home. That was why. Period. Nothing more. Now that they were back in the realm, by their own doing, the Dungeon Master failed to have this leverage over the Children.

Yet, somehow, he kept popping up.

"I have news that could potentially help you beat Thorne," the little man proclaimed. "First, you must find the Talisman of Veritaes, which is necessary in your campaign against the Dark One."

Of course, Dungeon Master would never show them what the talisman looked like: that would be all too easy. They usually had to guess. "Where is this talisman located?" Diana asked.

"In the tower of Blackmoor, inside the capitol city of Etreos, where you are headed," Dungeon Master said. He pondered over a puddle for a moment, before casting an image upon the still water. In the projection, a looming castle not unlike Venger's old fortress loomed over the sprawl of a city. It was black, black as sin, with expansive towers and many stories. Finding a small talisman in that fortitude would be next to impossible.

"Would you mind specifying the room?" Bobby said, dubious, but the Dungeon Master didn't plan on making things simple. "Remember Ranger: your enemies can have soft faces. The only difference between friend and foe is on the inside."

"More riddles," Sheila groaned. Aiyesha was quiet, intensely gazing upon the famed Dungeon Master as though not quite believing that she got to meet him.

"You must be Aiyesha, daughter of Ramoud," he said to her. She looked startled to even have been addressed.

"Yes?"

"Be courageous, young one. The road ahead is long and winding. As I always say, follow your heart," he warned before trotting away. Around one tree trunk he went, and he was gone.

"After a while, you get used to it," Diana said, patting a stunned Aiyesha on the back. "Actually, it kind of gets old."


	8. Chapter 7: Adrianos (redux)

Eric stared forlornly at Adrianos while, out of his sights, Presto moved cautiously towards a door on a run-down cottage. Eric had figured, like any decent human being, that Presto would want some space, which is why he actually offered the whole 'rendezvous' option. Three years could change people. Who knew what he would find inside the village doors?

The Children of Power had immediately taken to Varla… mostly because Presto had cared for her so much. She was nice enough, and with an amazing magical potential ahead of her. The fact that her previous neighbors had imprisoned them and nearly publicly executed them was just a small mark against the Illusionist. Sure, she was a bit airy and less down-to-earth than what Eric would look for in a girl. But not everyone could be as self-assured and bad-ass as Diana.

Why did he mention Kosar? Why? Why? Why? The looks she gave him after he had told her… they absolutely killed him. First, a look of total joy. Joy not directed towards him, but another man. A man of a healthy BMI and extremely symmetrical features: an attractive, altogether mate-worthy boy. Next, after her joy, she had shot him a pitying glance. As if to say 'sorry'.

"Stick your sympathies," Eric muttered, finding a rock and heaving it as far away as possible, imagining it to be Kosar's head hurling off deeper into the forest, to a place where Eric could no longer see it.

This was it. It had to be it. Could it be it? Maybe it was… he wasn't quite sure.

Presto talked to no one in Adrianos. While the whole lynching ordeal might be a western quirk, he wasn't going to put himself or Eric in any unnecessary exposure, just in case the village was more reactionary than he thought.

Government signs and warnings littered the town: notices about curfew and how to remain safe. Don't spend too much time at the marketplace. Travel in pairs. No leaving your home after dark. Presto would have to hurry: the suns were setting quickly, only one of the four left hanging in the sky, and sinking quickly.

The people had drawn out faces, with exaggerated features that almost looked inhuman. Larger eyes. Dominant foreheads. Jutting cheekbones. All the signs of poverty and hunger. They all stared curiously at Presto as he gracelessly, explored the empty streets. Male hands twitched towards sheathes at their belts when he passed, and all gripped their bags and belongings tighter. Pleasantries at a minimum. What a lovely spot.

"Excuse me, sir," Presto said, swallowing his fear and approaching homeless man on the main street… maybe a gypsy. Half of his teeth had fallen out, and the ones remaining were rotten. His legs were twisted at unnatural angles, covered in open, running sores. Presto got as close as he dared. "Do you know of a girl named Varla? Where she lives?"

The man snorted. "It'll cost you." His voice was gravelly and parched. You could almost hear the thirst in it. And the smell of it could topple a bogbeast.

"I don't have any money."

"Like hell you don't! If you want information, you have to pay!"

"I don't have any money. I told you."

"Your cloak then," the man requested. Presto hesitated. His magic hat was tucked inside his belt. If he gave the man his cloak, the guy would surely see it, blowing their cover.

"Never mind then," he said, deciding to walk away and find a different source, when the man tugged at the tail of his cloak anyways, pulling it free of Presto's person. Anyone somewhat close could see the vibrant green hat that the mysterious traveller carried. Audible gasps and exclamations were heard. The gasps turned quickly into yells of fear and anger. People standing around, manning their shops, stepped forward with their hands on their sheaths… The Magician ran before they could get any closer.

A handful chased after him. Thankfully the town was small enough that he could escape in minutes, but without adequate knowledge of the streets and layouts, Presto blindly turned corners, praying that none would lead to an alley. He opened up his hat, which was glowing in anticipation (he hadn't used it yet in the time he had been back) and fished around the depths of it.

_Something to stop them. Something to stop them. Something to stop them,_ he begged it, feeling a familiar tug at his gut that indicated magic leaving him. A bag of marbles. That would do. He dumped the contents of the hat onto the street behind him, not pausing to turn and look. Curses and grunts told him that his trick had worked, and Presto made a beeline for the high hill he and Eric had chosen for the camp.

"It's a sorcerer! Guards! Close the gates!" someone yelled ahead. Sounds of heavy wood dragging across the ground shook the ground as the armed men at the front started cranking the contraption shut.

That was a dumb thing to do. Eric knew it the moment the rock crashed into a bush. It was getting darker out, almost night, and he didn't want to stir any predators that might be lurking about. There were less forests now that they were farther east, so less of those dark-loving beings hanging around. But still…

He started a fire to compensate for his moment of irrationality. Fires kept away the bugs and the smaller beasts… most of the times. It would be a comforting thing for Presto and Varla when they came back. Or maybe just Presto. The visibility was also nice… and just as Eric sat down to enjoy his handiwork, a large explosion rocked the valley, centered near the town.

"Well, shit, Presto, I thought we were going for low key."

His body took a moment to react to the pain. The feeling of acid running through his intestines started up immediately, just as he was approaching the closing door… it hit Presto so hard that he fell to the ground, his breath taken from him. A head-splitting migraine slammed into his skull, so much that he could hardly think. His mind was able to articulate only one thing: Varla. This was a Varla's-in-pain-odd-shared-feeling sort of thing. Somewhere in the realm, she was hurting. Badly.

_You have to get up_, he thought, noticing the rapidly approaching guards. _You have to move. You'll find her later. Just move._ But he couldn't. His limbs refused to obey, buckling in searing agony. Weakly, Presto moved his hand over his hat.

_Anything_, he asked it. _Just… at your own discretion._ The hat hummed and spurted sparks in eager response… finally emitting a large cannon blast of compressed air and electric sparks from its frayed opening, incapacitating people for blocks.

Eric jumped into action, the explosion in Adrianos waking him up. He smothered their fire and kicked dirt over the embers. The horses were saddled and their bags packed within a minute (which was quite the accomplishment, given that the horses were going stir-crazy with the loud noises). Soon, all that there was left to do was wait…

The magic nearly blew out Presto's eardrums. It didn't look like anyone was dead… but since the Varla-pain had disappeared at last, he wasn't going to stick around to find out. When he reached Eric by the camp, the Cavalier was all questions.

"What the hell happened? It's like you sent up a flare to Thorne and his cronies: 'Look! We Children of Power are here! Where's the welcome basket?' As if we weren't targeted enough!"

"Eric, for once in your life, shut the hell up," Presto snarled, mounting his horse and taking off. This was the first time that, in his rage, Eric realized that Varla was missing from the equation.

"Where's the Illusionist?" he asked as they pulled away from the main road and into the protection of the thin forest (to avoid the traffic on the one trail). There was no response from his friend… only a grimace. Together, they fled the valley, aiming to reach their original destination without further detour. The entire time, Presto's face was drawn tight and was closed from any interpretation.


	9. Chapter 8: The Ancient Prophecy

_In the legends, tales of lore_

_Grew the epic of fair Aaldore_

_A world of wealth and prosperity_

_Of lush, vibrant gardens and coastal cities_

_Until there was something more…_

_Came a wizard, noble and humane_

_He responsibly magicked, healing the sick and the lame_

_Invariably helpful with human and beast_

_The Dungeon Master worked ceaselessly for peace_

_Until his children, powerful in their own right, came_

_The boy was of power and greed_

_In the girl lay a vain and jealous seed_

_They let their powers control their souls_

_And Venger sought the realm, a lofty goal_

_To their father, they did not heed_

_To fix the Dungeon Master's mistakes_

_He picked out six earthlings to take_

_Into the realm, to Sarinthis land_

_With magical gifts, to try and understand_

_How the past can cause man to break_

_Hank, the Ranger was the leader of the clan_

_Eric, the Cavalier, desperately trying to be a man_

_A gentle Thief, Sheila and the Acrobat full of fire_

_Presto, the Magician, brilliant but prone to misfire_

_And the Bobby, the Barbarian: the first to abandon the plan_

_They failed to defeat the evil abound_

_Instead changed it, restoring Venger's crown_

_The realm experienced relative balance and harmony_

_With no citizen able to foresee_

_The new darkness spreading around_

_They have been sent back, in, to head_

_The war on Thorne, whose hold is widespread_

_The battle is heavily stacked_

_And the portal between worlds has, for the last time, been cracked_

_And mark the prophecy: by the end of the conflict, a Child of Power will be dead_

_Their blood will be shed_

_Mark the unshakable prophecy:_

_By the end of the conflict, a Child of Power will be dead_


	10. Chapter 9: Tardos

Queen Surinara had seen Tiamat twice. Once as a little girl, following her father around places where she had no business being. The second was when she had been visited by Dungeon Master's pupils.

It seemed that wherever they went, they brought adventure along with them, like a stray dog following a food merchant. The two were so intertwined, they almost became one complex of circumstance.

The Dungeon Master, she had seen three times. Once when she became queen (as he was there at her coronation for the briefest of moments), once with the Children of Power, and once regarding the Children of Power.

"I know that the Cavalier and Magician will be travelling to your great city for assistance," the Dungeon Master said, his face grim for once. Surinara only stared out of the window. They were in the tallest tower of her fortress… she spent quite a lot of time staring out of the many windows, wondering if she could see Thorne's monsters from far off and warn her people.

"Isn't it just a ruse, Dungeon Master? A conspiracy? Neighboring cities have merely scoffed at the notion of some notorious creature named 'Thorne' in the west regulating monster uprisings. When I say it aloud, it sounds preposterous!"

"And when the monsters are upon your great city, eating your people and destroying your empire? Will you think them preposterous then?" the Dungeon Master chided. "Your wealth of dragons bane is of utmost importance on this mission. When the two arrive here, stock them with the stuff. They might be travelling with a girl… give her some, too, naturally. They are no match for Tiamat still… for Tiamat is immortal. I fear the advantage the beast will have over the Children, especially since she draws her power from the same source as their Weapons of Power. That magical connection is a thing to be respected. And feared."

"You have never steered me wrong, Dungeon Master. My people think me mad for increasing the reinforcements at the gates and city walls, especially since we are impoverished given the destruction of farmlands by the monsters… but then again: I'm a political figure! They'll think me mad for other reasons sooner or later. Why not now?"

The next morning, Tardos bore the brunt of the largest Orc attack in Sarinthis history. The very place that Surinara and Dungeon Master had been talking was coated in fresh blood. The dragons bane… the entire stash… was set on fire with the fortress, until it's smoky remains was carried off by the eastern winds.

Orcs then took to the roads, sealing off all roads leading to Tardos and setting up ambushes along some of the smaller, less travelled roads: the routes they knew the Children of Power to be taking. And they waited for their fish to swim into the net. Patiently. They had all the time in the world.


	11. Chapter 10: Longfellow Inn

To be brief: it was not a pleasant ride towards Tardos for Presto and Eric.

"I can't believe I left my ATARI for _this…_" Eric griped, lagging behind, as usual. Presto, as predicted, was silent. His pace was unbearable: his horse was ready to drop. They fled the scene with a fervor that only could be attached to raw, strong emotion. Already they were a day out from Tardos, and had ridden in two days what they had predicted would take three. Trees were extremely thin now as they were approaching the city (for it was in a desert-like canyon), allowing the four suns to mercilessly beat down our heroes during the day (finally some reprieve as the last two suns were starting to fall). Winds were magnified without the tree coverage, and the feeling of being watched could not be shaken out in the open.

Eric didn't ask questions about the encounter at Adrianos. The past was behind them, as people say, and Presto was too moody to approach about the subject. It was quite the shame. An Illusionist on their side would've been helpful.

"How do you think Diana and them are doing?" Eric pondered aloud. The Magician smirked.

"You mentioned Diana though Hank is leading that group. What's up between the two of you now?"

"Huh?"

"Clearly she's on your mind, Eric. Spill it."

"What are you talking about? I mean, I- WOAH, VARLA?" he called out in surprise.

"Stop trying to divert atten-" The girl had just… appeared? Out of midair? Eric knew that he and Presto had been hydrating, so this wasn't some version of a dying man's mirage. She was real… flesh and blood. Presto's eyes (at long last!) locked in on the beautiful Illusionist that had eluded him for so long.

Again like Uni and Bobby: to avoid sap, we'll just say that it was a happy reunion.

"We've got so much to tell you," Presto said, almost giddily after the embraces and exclamations of joy and surprise that are standard for such meetings. He dismounted his horse (was it Eric or did the beast sigh in relief) and helped Varla on.

"And I, you. But first: we must stop this route immediately! Tardos has been taken over by monsters and Thorne's cronies completely. We'll be walking straight into a monster hovel if we try and reach the city."

You didn't need to tell them twice. Before the last sun had set, the trio turned quickly around and bolted for the west, to Etreos. Along the way, the Illusionist and Magician filled each other in on nearly three years of separation and histories (at least, Presto filled Varla in. She offered nothing and avoided the topic of her own life, and the Presto didn't push), with Eric listening keenly in. It made him happy to see Presto so happy, but sometimes he could tune out of their merry chatter with thoughts on his friend, the Acrobat, so many miles away and in the hotspot of danger.

She probably had put all thoughts about him out of mind as she neared Etreos and the Isildras Mountains. Probably only thinking of Kosar. Dreamy, starry Kosar with his lilted, alluring voice and airy sophistication. The stars were gorgeous out that night, with them being in open territory (approaching the forests rapidly, though, as they were bulldozing through the distance to find cover). You could see the whole realm galaxy from where they were: it completely dominated the night sky, leading the three, like tiny beacons, in the darkness.

Fast forward a few days:

They headed north first, to avoid the Dustlands (as they were mid-east). The chatter had been amiable for the most part, with Eric's good natured complaints dotting the atmosphere and what with the warmth between Presto and Varla. They seemed to understand each other even better now, though it had been over two years since they had seen each other last. Presto, like Eric had done for his friend, asked few questions about her life. She didn't seem like she was ready to discuss whatever had happened to her over the time of their absence, and Presto respected that.

Trees seemed to blend together into one brushstroke of green as their horses cantered around the odd roots and stones that protruded from the almost forgotten path.

Etreos was their destination, and with each day the group became more and more worried of its state. News from towns they passed and villages held more violence as they traversed across the northern mountains. Major cities in the east were under siege. Fields were being burned then covered in salt. Food supplies to the west were down. Central trade groups were being ambushed and disappearing altogether. The signs were bleak.

Eric had a peculiar sense that they were being watched, and in the deep forest where anything could hide, he felt very exposed indeed. They had encountered many beasts in the forests during their journey, but none that the trio could not defeat. They were lesser evils: a savage animal here and there. So simple to tackle that Presto almost became lazy in defeating them. But now… with the low-lands of the east, you could see for miles around. Eric had the sense that they were being closely followed…

"Call me insane, but I'm starting to miss the open fields," Eric said as the sun began slipping down the flat horizon. "It's so… ominous out here. I feel like they can stalk us better now. I would like to find a place to sleep tonight."

"Such a baby," Presto laughed, but he understood his friend's concerns.

"If you'd like to be liver pate for a vampire, by all means, sleep outside."

"We are unsafe wherever we are," Varla interjected somberly. "In a village or not. But the horses need rest and food if we are to make it to Etreos in a timely fashion."

"Ha!" Eric smirked. Presto rolled his eyes.

It took them a few more hours of hard riding, but soon a small cottage appeared in the distance with warm lights radiating from polished windows. Smoke rose from the chimneys (for there were multiple sticking out from the shingled roof) and smells of homely foods filled their nostrils when the breeze shifted. Their horses moved with renewed vigor towards the beacon and in no time at all, their group was upon the front entrance.

"_Longfellow Inn_," Eric read from the wooden sign that hung near the door. Several other rune scripts were underneath the English that Eric couldn't decipher, but he assumed they were different languages saying the same thing.

"Apparently I can read gnomish," Presto said, surprised.

"It comes with your magical abilities," said Varla, getting off her horse. "We can rest here for the night." She paused before the giant door before giving three quick raps on the wood, a pause, then two quick raps. Someone peered behind the drawn curtains, and briskly opened the door, casting a sudden warmth on the travelers from the inside heat.

The innkeeper, a bustling woman with full skirts and her hair untidily done up, answered the door with a scowl. "Get in."

"The horses," Varla began, but already a dwarf scurried out and took the reins of Varla's horse.

"A bit slow, aren't you two?" the lady smirked as Presto and Eric were still mounted. They scrambled off, and the dwarf took the horses presumably to the stables. Grabbing Varla's arm, the innkeeper pulled the three into the building and closed the door tightly. "Idiots, the lot of you! Travelling after the sun has retired! Dwaddling outside! You must have a death wish!"

"Thank you, mam," Varla said.

"Don't 'mam' me," the innkeeper said, but fondly now that they were out of the apparent danger outside. "The name is Gladys: innkeeper of Longfellow Inn."

"Quite a fine establishment you've got here," Eric said sarcastically as an amphibious couple pushed past him rudely. Gladys had pulled them into what apparently was the lobby, which was cozily tiny, or even a bit cramped. A fire was roaring in one corner, where a gathering of dwarves were passing a bottle around while telling stories. Disfigured beasts similar to Solarz (gray skin, protruding nose and hunched back) reclined in chairs around a low table, smoking pipes that filled the lobby with noxious gas.

Longfellow Inn was larger on the inside than it had appeared: the lobby itself was vaster than the cottage had been. Yet, it was still full to the brim. Gladys motioned towards a sign with her price range (which Varla inspected carefully since the boys did not know much about Sarinthis tender). "Only two human rooms are open, at the moment. Had a couple of traders come in the other day. One bed in each. Only other option is a dwarf room, but it's a mite bit small. Pay is up front or you're out the door."

"We'll take the human rooms, please," Varla said politely, doling out the coins (parting gift from Ramoud) which Gladys snatched quickly and deposited the money into her bustling top. She eyed Presto suspiciously for a moment.

"You a magical one, dearie?" Presto shook his head.

"No. I'm a simple worker in the south." That was their cover story.

Gladys didn't believe him. "You look it," she declared indignantly. "Got the complexion about you." Presto had kept his conical wizard's hat tucked deep inside the folds of his robes for the entire journey for the very reason that Gladys was bringing up: wizards and magic folk were not welcome and were targets. Eventually he had to change his robes too for plainer clothes due to sideways glances from fellow travelers. Eric's typical armor was abandoned also, and he too wore citizen garb. Nobody could know of their association with the Dungeon Master except for some allied leaders. At least not while they were travelling.

"What's your town?"

"Tendrax," Presto answered immediately. It was a southern, dreary place that had scrawnier, paler humans like himself. "I work in town there. Shop keeper."

Gladys's eyes narrowed. "We have no political standings. We just run a respectable inn and wish to be left out of things!"

"I mean no harm," he replied, taken aback some.

"We're meeting his brother in Qualdin (a northern town west of where they were)," Eric lied. "Best to stay together in these hard times, is it not? Now let us in, or we can take our money and find rest elsewhere."

Gladys looked like she wanted to argue further, but after staring over Presto some more, she begrudgingly led them deeper into the inn.

The rooms were quaint, and quite small. Each had only a miniscule bed, a mirror, and a bowl of water to wash ones face atop a tiny side-table. There was one window: high on the far wall from the door, so that moonlight could enter the room, but strangers could not see in. A single candle was on the table next to the washing bowl.

"Cheers," Gladys said unceremoniously, giving Presto the keys. "If you want your horses, just talk to one of the workers in the lobby and they'll ready them in the stables. While this is a safe inn," she added as an afterthought as she walked away, "it's best not to leave the lady alone. Dangerous times, these are!" With that, she was gone.

Varla shook her head. "I never realized that things were this bad."

"Did you see how she was terrified of opening the door?" Eric shuddered. "Dangerous times indeed!"

Eric took a room to himself. Varla was undoubtedly not a damsel in distress: of that, they all agreed (it was more Eric that was vulnerable now that Presto had grown more powerful and skilled with his hat). Yet, as a precaution, they agreed that she and Presto should room together. Better safe than sorry.

"Thank goodness," Eric laughed as he took his set of keys. "Presto tosses and turns when he sleeps."

"Shut up, you hogged the blanket!" Presto retorted. "We had to cozy up in this crazy maze once," he tried to explain. "It's a good story for the road."

"Goodnight, all," Eric said, disappearing into his room, though not before shooting Presto a funny look.

"Night, Eric."

Presto locked the door behind them, worried that the lock might not prove faithful in case someone was trying to break in. "I'll sleep on the floor, if you're uncomfortable sharing," he offered. He turned away as Varla changed from her day clothes to the nightgown he had found her in.

"No, that won't be necessary," she said, crawling into the bed and blowing out the candle. Presto removed his wizard robe (he had a shirt and pants on underneath), and joined her. It wasn't an unfavorable position, by all means. They were not shy of one another. Not to be too forward however, Presto was on the very edge of the bed, granting Varla as much room as possible.

"Night, Varla," he said tightly.

She spoke to the ceiling, unable to meet his eye. "Jaref died in the first wave of monster attacks right after I heard that you all had left the realm. Mother and I… well, it wasn't safe in the south for two women to live alone, especially with one being magical and all. She arranged the marriage to a man in Adrianos. Please believe me when I say: I waited. I swear I did. But soon, there was nothing we could do…"

Suddenly, Varla was covered in bruises and terrible scars. There were especially prominent wounds near her neck and both eyes were black. Split lip. Busted cheekbone. She had been hiding the scars of her abuse using her illusionist magic since they had escaped the village.

"Varla…" Presto didn't know what to say. They were so much older now. Ages.

"Presto?" Varla asked after a moment.

"Yes?"

"What do you think our odds are of defeating Thorne?" Her voice sounded small, but not far away. He could feel the vibrations of her voice in his skin… he wasn't complaining about that. Presto's chest rose slightly as he gave a small laugh.

"Probably about 5%," he answered honestly. "And that estimate is including my sickening optimism."

"And of making it out alive?" she asked him, lifting her head so she could see his golden eyes in the darkness. He paused for a moment, trying to find a truthful answer.

"Yours is 100%. That's non-negotiable." Presto's eyes were sad, Varla noticed. He had told her of his difficult life back on earth with uncaring parents and torments from his peers… but this was different. Being a wizard _and _a Child of Power, he was a great target for the enemy. They would not make the mistake of keeping him hostage for long if he was caught. Though they had travelled in secret, using aliases when names were required to enter taverns, word had probably gotten to Thorne by then that the Children of Power were back in the realm, and search parties were probably already out looking for them and their magical weapons.

"You don't look too reassured about your own survival," she said.

"I'm a realistic man."

"Well, you have to survive for _me,_ too. Don't forget," she gently.

"Deal," he whispered to her between breaths. Satisfied, Varla pulled away and rested her head against his thin chest and was asleep in minutes, carried to the subconscious world with the beating of his chest, a rhythm that she hoped she would never hear the end of.

Presto lay awake for longer though… even though he knew he needed all of his energies for the journey before them. He found it hard to sleep or even concentrate with Varla's head against his sternum and her hair in his fingers. He knew that he probably couldn't keep the deal he had just made. When he had left earth, a part of him knew that he was leaving it for good.

Eventually the day of travels got to him, and he slipped away peacefully into a land where they wouldn't have to run… where they could be free together and safe from whatever lurked outdoors at twilight.


	12. Chapter 11: The End of Gladys and Bedour

"Orcs!" Gladys hissed into Presto's ear, putting a hand over his mouth so he would not yell.

"There are kinder ways to wake a guy," he chided, jamming on his glasses, jolted wide awake. "What's that?"

"Orcs." Presto blanched.

"Where?"

"In a town roughly three miles from here. Apparently they're moving this way and should be here before the hour ends. A friend from town warned me."

Gladys still was in her bedclothes, a stocking cap atop her square head. She held a lantern close to her face, casting shadows across the bed, where Varla still was curled up, sleeping peacefully. "I warned the other man already. You'd best be off. They're probably looking to stir up some trouble, and with you being a pupil of the Dungeon Master, I can only assume that they're after you all."

"Thank you, Gladys. We are forever indebted," Presto said. "The horses?"

"Getting ready as we speak. Dress quickly! Don't meet in the lobby where the other tenants are, meet out back!" Gladys bustled out of the room quickly, hobbling more side to side than forward. Presto gently shook Varla's shoulder, and she woke.

"Up, dear. Orcs on their way," he said, tearing out of bed and throwing on his robes. He splashed water on his face… that would have to do for the moment. After Varla dressed and packed (all she had was a knapsack for carrying a change of clothes… the rest of their things were in the saddle bags), they ran from the room, leaving the keys on the bedspread (which they had not bothered to make).

Eric was already there, eating a piece of fruit. He threw one to Presto and mounted his horse. "Rise and shine, lovebirds. Orcs a comin'."

"Where should we go? Surely not back west?" Varla asked, tipping the dwarf who had even washed their equipment and their horses. The dwarf looked very proud of his work and the horses indeed looked well-rested and ready for the continuation of their journey. Given how Presto had worn them out so on his merciless pace, it was truly an impressive job.

"Gladys told me to inform you," the dwarf said, "that the Orcs are coming from the northeast."

"So we'll go southwest," Eric said aloud. "It will put us off our course for a couple of leagues, but it's a hell of a lot better than getting caught."

"That'll take us straight into the Dustlands, though," exclaimed Varla.

"We'll reroute after we lose them. Let's waste no time more with chatter," Presto said hastily, and they were off. The Orcs, if Gladys's time frame was correct, would be upon the tavern in less than half an hour.

After the Cavalier, Magician, and Illusionist left, the dwarf (whose name was Bedour) shuffled calmly back to the lobby. Poor children. Poor, poor children. Whatever they were running from, they were probably to fail. The moment he had seen the wizard, he knew. They were pupils of the Dungeon Master, and surely were crossing westwards to aid the falling empires.

"Burn their bed sheets and anything with a scent of them," Gladys instructed Bedour. "I wouldn't be surprised if the Orcs bring a magical beast of sort to sniff them out."

"You're showing a lot of mercy to those travelers," he remarked under his breath.

"Not for the sake of them. If the Orcs find out that they have been here, or found them here, it'll be our heads and not theirs." With that, Gladys gave him a pointed stare to do his new task well, and disappeared into the glow of the inn to take care of some of the early morning customers.

"These are odd times indeed," Balkin muttered as he went to tend to their abandoned rooms.

Orc guards arrived in the time frame Gladys had given. The entirety of Longfellow Inn could smell them coming long before their actual arrival: the horde reeked of sweat and mud and death, and the pungent odors surrounded their troupe like a force field.

They were part of a search party force that had been directed to investigate anywhere remotely near Tardos… anywhere where the Children of Power could've gone. None of the ambushes had been triggered, so the Orc generals knew that the trio had heard about the fall of the city and rerouted. Therefore: search parties.

Most tenants, hearing of the Orc's arrival, scurried into their respective lodgings and closed the doors tightly. Evil was afoot. Even outside the windows, though dawn was starting to break, looked darker. A hard scraping noise came against the door, and Gladys checked her skirt and hair before opening the door a crack. "Need rooms?" The Orc leader did not respond, but simply pushed his way into Longfellow Inn. Tenants milling about the lobby went silent as the horde of Orcs poured into the place. There were about ten of them: all large, muscular, and vile. The rest of the group (say about five to ten more) waited outside, some circling around the back of the inn.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Gladys yelled.

"Direct orders from the Head of the Republic, Thorne himself," the leader said, jamming a piece of parchment to her face (Gladys was near illiterate and knew only enough reading and writing to maintain the inn). "We're looking for three humans… two males, one female. One's a wizard, another looks like a standard warrior. Penalty of death to all of those who hide them."

A dark, hooded figure entered the room, whose very presence seemed to darken the candles and fireplace. It was a rainy day anyways, so it was eerily dark in the lobby to begin with. The figure closed the door behind him, revealing ghastly gray skin underneath his dark garb. Gladys feared she knew what the creature was.

"Nobody here of that sort," Gladys said boldly, showing them the log book (she had enough common sense not to write down the strange children in it, and had simply taken their money).

The leader smiled. He snapped his fingers together, and three of his men pounced on Bedour the dwarf, twisting his arms nearly out of their sockets. "What about you, dwarf? Any children of that nature around here?"

"No!" An Orc drew his sword and teased the shaking dwarf by drawing a thin line around one of his wrists… "I swear: I never saw such children."

"Check everywhere," the leader commanded to the remaining Orcs, who tore off through the inn with Gladys feebly protesting behind them. "Check first the human rooms."

The Orcs came back with negative results: there were two vacant rooms, but nothing out of the ordinary. The leader grunted at this news and made to leave, but the hooded figure stopped him.

With a flick of his wrist, the stranger put the fire in the hearth out, moving quickly to Gladys and lifting his hood. Underneath the dark fabrics, there was an emaciated face with high, regal cheekbones and deep eyes. His skin was paler than a ghost's: the only coloration was the dark circles under his eyes and his scarlet, tightly pressed lips. By all conventional means, the man's face was handsome, but terrible in the same measure.

He took Bedour, thrusting him against the wall. Several of the tenants shrieked, but the Orcs blocked the exit so they could enjoy the spectacle. "Three children," the man said in a hiss, revealing razor sharp teeth, "you know where they are."

"I swear I don't! I sw-" The man brought his face closer to Bedour's, and a wet spot appeared in his pants.

"They went west. They left this morning. Spare me, please!" Bedour cried, trembling. The man dropped the dwarf to the floor, where he received a sharp kick to the head from a nearby Orc and promptly passed out.

The horrible creature turned on Gladys, whose face had turned from terror to resignation and determination. Within moments, the creature pounced onto her body, pushing her to the ground with a crack. She shrieked as his fangs broke the skin of her neck and trachea, drowning in her own blood. People in the lobby shrieked in horror at the spectacle. The Orc general gave a lazy flick of his head that sent the remaining Orcs out on the customers of Longfellow Inn, permanently silencing them. Their screams hurt his ears and that was a nuisance.

"We go," the general said at last, pointing to the main trail. "They must've been here last night. Not too long ago. We can't catch up with them. Instead, we need another group to ambush them… one farther west." The monster that they were travelling with heard this information and left without the Orcs, bent on relaying this information to other hordes that could be of assistance to the plot. Units were dispatched. They were close.

"Did you hear that?" Eric whispered. It was the dead of night, and they had not slept since they had left Longfellow Inn earlier that morning.

"Hear what?" murmured Varla, who was about to fall asleep on her horse.

"A rustling in the bushes," Eric said.

"It's probably the wind," Varla brushed it off. "You're paranoid."

"I thought I heard it too," supported Presto. He stopped riding to listen. So did the others. "I don't like this…" he said, pulling his hat from inside his robes and whispering a spell. Light poured out of the depths of the magical item, which he directed at the tree line. There, he saw scores of beady eyes, staring hungrily at them. The attack happened then.

They first struck Presto's horse, which toppled with a frightened whinny. Arrows protruded from his steed, who flung her rider off many feet. Presto's hat fell from his hand, out of reach, and his ribcage took the brunt of the blow. He could tell in moments a rib might've been cracked from the fall. Maybe more. No time for that. Orcs were upon him in seconds, almost as soon as he hit the ground, as Eric's horse was taken. Varla felt rough hands grab her from behind and she fell from her steed with a scream. A bag went over her head. The world went black.


	13. Chapter 12: Everyone Else

Diana went almost faster than Presto did on her way to Etreos, practically dragging her companions through the terrain to the city. They were only a few days off from their destination: surprisingly unhindered on their journey (unlike their companions, unfortunately).

"Diana: SLOW DOWN!" Hank said, completely frustrated. Her eagerness to arrive at Etreos had lost its level of admirable and honorable determination a few days ago, when she made them pull a 24 hour travel day because she couldn't stand sleeping and being idle.

"Why are you going so _fast_?" Bobby groaned, Uni bleating in agreement.

"We've important things to do in Etreos. Things to do. People to see. Come _on_…"

Ramoud's kingdom was freaking out.

Word about Tardos' demise had reached them, a neighboring empire, quickly. The king was preparing for battle, and outside the palace walls, lines of young, healthy people waited for the distribution of weapons. Shutters were bolted closed. Chatter and rumor almost stopped after Ramoud publicly confirmed their fears about Tardos.

"She is a much bigger empire than us," he said gravely. "Queen Surinara, our ally and friend, is dead. Given our close proximity to Tardos, I believe it is time to arm ourselves even more fiercely than before."

He called for bravery from his people. For strength. Sacrifice.

_'Thank goodness Aiyesha went with Hank and them,_ he thought, however optimistic he appeared to those who called on him for advice or guidance. As much as he loved and had faith in the abilities of his people… Tardos was enormous. _My kingdom will not see the end of this war against Thorne. But thank goodness Aiyesha has left me so that she perhaps can…_


	14. Chapter 13: Shalderon Prison

The Orc guards would not leave them alone. Ever. Not for a minute.

As soon as they reached the prison, which was nestled inside the perimeter of Shalderon, their weapons of power were confiscated and they were beaten and interrogated. Varla was nowhere to be seen, and Presto was beside himself with worry. Initially after their capture, the Orcs had taken them to separate rooms for interrogation.

Eric's interrogation process was simpler than the others. They took long, burning coals and held them to various parts of his body, but the Cavalier would not submit. When asked where the other Children of Power were, he said that he knew nothing and to go to hell. Burning water had no affect either, and after cutting off three of his fingers (one on his right hand, two on his left), they gave up on finding answers from the Cavalier. He had to be physically intact and not-dead for them to get paid.

The Orcs were more cautious of Presto. While Eric was physically elite, Presto's powers had been growing quietly for longer than any could imagine, and they feared the unknown look in his eyes as they dragged him into his cell. He didn't know where Varla was: if they had killed her or tortured her or what. He didn't know where Eric was. He looked feral after all of the abuse he had taken so far: like a man with nothing to lose. Tying him to a bed, they force fed Presto an unknown potion that made him have terrible visions for days. Countless times he watched his friends die from gruesome means and the realm topple under the giant foot of Thorne. He watched Varla's ex-fiancé beat her to a pulp because he and Eric took so long getting to her. He watched her die in his arms. When offered the antidote for information, Presto spat in their faces.

Both men were placed in a long corridor of empty cells in the deeper parts of the dungeon after a week of hellish pain and suffering. The Orcs had bound them and blindfolded them as they were thrown into their cells, so neither had the faintest idea how to escape the maze that was the prison hold if an opportunity to escape ever did present itself. Neither of their previous or acquired wounds were tended to, so Eric's body was broken beyond all repair. He held soiled bandages to the stumps of his fingers and sat gingerly, trying not to let his burns touch the dirty prison floor. Presto sat awkwardly with his broken rib, everything hurting to breathe.

No more were the days of kindly prison guards and bumbling Lizard Men. Those days were long gone…

"Where's Varla? Where did you take her?" Presto called at passing guards.

"Your execution is slated for the following morning," one of the guards said, hitting Presto hard with a wooden pole through the bars.

"LET ME GO!" Well, that answered Presto's question fairly well.

Three Lizard Men accompanied Varla into the dungeons, her legs and arms both handcuffed together. Two dragged her by her upper arms, while the other walked closely behind with a broadsword at his hip.

"Varla!" The call earned Presto another jab with the wooden pole. Right on his broken rib… ow.

"The prisoner was useless," a Lizard Man said to one of the guards as they opened a cell for the illusionist. "No information. Nothing. Beware of her powers. We will send more reinforcements to guard her cell shortly."

The eastern fringes were almost completely overrun, and they had been able to do little to stop the invading creatures. Presto had heard nothing about Ramoud's kingdom, but he was almost sure that if it hadn't succumbed to the monsters, it was at least under attack by them at the moment. They just needed to get to Etreos… if only he had his hat!

Recently, spells had begun opening themselves up for the young wizard. It was as if he and the magic hat had struck an odd agreement to understand the other, and had finally begun working in tandem rather than annoying its counterpart. Presto's incantations had grown more serious and elemental, and the spells had become more refined. While just before leaving the realm his powers had been solid, upon his reunion with the magic hat, it seemed that the magic was willing to accommodate more so long as he stuck around.

However, he had never attempted to cast spells without his hat before… it was possible, for Dungeon Master and Zandora and Lukeon and all of the great wizards he so looked up to were able to without a weapon of power. Yet…

More reinforcements would be in the dungeon shortly. If there was ever a good time to escape, it was then. He needed to act quickly, or else their chances of escape would diminish to almost nothing.

With a prayer, Presto whispered a quick healing spell upon himself and Eric. Varla looked unharmed, thank goodness, but her torture might've been psychological. Eric said nothing has his open sores magically healed themselves, but understood Presto's motives and braced himself for the escape. The fingers… well… Presto eased the pain and sealed the stumps up with some skin so they wouldn't get infected. Some healing magic is not so strong as to completely regenerate limbs. That magic is reserved for science and nature. Not feeling too tired with the complicated spell (and his ribcage feeling fine again), Presto continued.

"_Melt like liquid_

_Bars of iron, wrought_

_Freeing contents_

_To avoid getting caught"_

It was one of his least eloquent phrases, whispered into the corner so the Orc guards would not hear, but the bars began hissing quietly anyways, liquefying into pools of alloy at their feet.

"What's going on here?" an Orc guard asked. Thankfully, Eric was quick witted enough to slam his elbow into the Orc's head, and he dropped. The Orc's face fell into the sizzling metal, and he shrieked in absolute agony.

"Get the weapons!" Presto said to Varla as she darted out of her cell before her guards could react to what was happening.

"ESCAPE! CODE RED!" an Orc nearby howled, his reeking breath hoarsely echoed, his words hardly discernible by the group due to the lilt of his species.

"Well… shit," Eric commented, rather unnecessarily as the existing guards began to surround him and Presto. They should've booked it the moment they had the chance. Presto felt a sudden, lung crushing sense of pain, and saw an Orc with weapons in hand enter the dungeon chamber. That would be Varla, in disguise. She pushed her way forward to them, changing out of disguise quickly before they both passed out, and handing them their weapons. They had seconds to act. Presto quickly listed off a spell he had been contemplating since the moment they arrived.

The room began to quake violently, and Presto immediately positioned Eric's hand so his shield faced the roof, pulling Varla and himself underneath its protection. "Just don't move," he instructed, his voice tight. Varla, thoughtful, helped steady Eric's trembling arm as the stress sent excruciating pain down his stub finger. The roof began to collapse in chunks, slabs of concrete taking out the frenzied Orcs.

Small bits of the collapsing ceiling hit our protagonists, but they bore nothing more than a few shallow cuts. Presto frantically recalled the spell after all of the Orcs had been bludgeoned by the quake, before the whole structure of the building was damaged.

"Now's our chance!" Varla cried. Sounds of human warriors lumbering in from the only other exit/entrance sounded as they came to see the commotion, and Varla let out a very choice curse word. She wrenched a sword from a nearby fallen guard, breaking his fingers in the process of releasing it. The sound was sickening, but the Orc did not cry in pain. A piece of ceiling had found his head, and there would be no more pain after that.

Darting from the room, she went to receive the human warriors that had come to examine the damage. The boys heard the clashing of metal as swords collided, and they scrambled to reach her.

The adjacent room was very large, with the ceiling at least forty feet above them. It seemed like they were in an atrium of some sort, with different levels looking down on them. Five human warriors were in the adjacent room, all armed and armored, weapons raised, expecting the instigators of the roof collapse and prison break out. Eric silently offered a prayer of thanks when he realized that there were no archers waiting on the upper levels. Arrows would've found Varla the moment she had exited the room, and he wouldn't have the dexterity to protect her in time.

Oh, but the enemy still could take advantage of the upper ground! It was a large room, yet, with very few objects to hide behind. The battle would be quick and decisive.

Varla began swinging the stolen sword, as did Eric. Presto remained in the doorway, in the other room a bit so that no attack would disturb him from his newest spell, which he made up as quickly as he could. 

"_Direct rays_

_On enemies all the same_

_A shaft of tangible heat_

_Dart of golden flame"_

His hat began to warm quickly in his hands, emitting a menacing light from its opening. "DUCK!" Presto screamed, and his friends did so instantly, just in time. Tendrils of fire sprouted from the depths of Presto's hat, forming into pointed arrows that flew on winding trajectories to opponents. The sound of the arrows connecting with flesh and the gurgling of sudden death filled the chamber.

Out of the five guards, one had a diagonal slash across his chest, with congealed blood distinguishing it. The rest had a combination of flaming arrows in their chests and eyes. Eric stared at the slaughtered guards, dumbstruck, and then to his friend. The Magician looked just as stunned as his comrade, not quite believing what his spell had done.

"No time," Varla cried, yanking the boys from their stupor. "We must flee before reinforcements come!"

"You silly little humanssssssss…." Eric paled, and Varla gave a small sob. The voice was impossible to misplace: Tiamat. The five-headed dragon. Of course Tiamat would be stationed in the main prison hold of the Western resistance.

"RUN!" Eric called, but to where, he had no idea. The door behind them only led back into the dungeons with a partially unstable roof: the very place they were trying to avoid. The only other exit, a tall door at least thirty feet tall, was occupied by Tiamat. They were, in effect, trapped. Varla darted behind one of the pillars supporting the roof with Presto, and Eric did the same on another pillar.

"Did you really believeeee you could escape? That you could resisssst us for sssso long? They sssaid you needed extra securityyyyy." Loud thumps came from the exit as Tiamat lazily shuffled into the room. Eric knew his sword would never affect Tiamat's hard skin, nor would he be able to get close enough to do any damage without the monster lazily burning him to a crisp.

"We're not afraid of you, or the Republic!" Eric called back.

"Reallyyyy? Then why are you hidingggg?" Suddenly, Tiamat let out a burst of heavy, golden flame around Eric's pillar, which went on either side of him. Varla screamed, watching the flame scorch around her friend. Tiamat cruelly chuckled, getting closer still. Soon, she would be upon them and there was no hope if that happened.

Angling herself differently, Tiamat's newer weapon of choice would be able to reach Eric, without the thick pillar for protection.

"Eric, look out!"

Oh, but Tiamat was clever. When raising his shield to defend himself, Tiamat's red head pulled back, and the blue came forward, emitting long bolts of electricity at the cavalier, who was thrown back, unconscious.

"NOOOO!" Both Varla and Presto cried it at the same time, as their friend went skidding across the floor. Tiamat seemed to worry little of the Cavalier, and turned to the couple. Presto quietly stood in front of Varla, pulling his hat simply from his head and opening it.

"Sexist pig, I can take care of myself," Varla chided, but understood that her illusion powers were useless in front of Tiamat. Make them disappear? No, Tiamat would know it to be a mere ruse, and would tear through them with her dangerous talons. Try to create a diversion? No diversion would be strong enough to worry Tiamat.

"Oh, look at the poor, bumbling wizzzzard," the dragon chuckled, and Varla darted behind the pillar as the white head came forward, spitting ice.

"Shit!" Presto's hat emitted fire in contrast, and the ice melted. Quickly, the white head retreated, bringing the red one forward once again, and Presto switched to create water to combat the onslaught of fire. Sweating and shaking from the pressure, he cried in pain. "Varla! Get out of here!" Sobbing, Varla tried to run past Tiamat to the unguarded, large door.

"Oh noooo you don't," the monster cried, the black head turning to face her. Varla quickly created the illusion that she was no longer there, forgetting that Tiamat could seamlessly see through all illusions. It was just a reflex action: not really thought out at all. It was by sheer luck that the acid spray missed her by a safe margin. Unfortunately, the sudden use of her energy constricted her insides, making her cry out and…

Damn! Double damn! She forgot that Presto felt her pain too, and felt just as drained as she! Immediately, Varla stopped her illusion, but the damage had been done. If Presto had been weak before after defeating the Orcs AND the human guards AND healing himself and Eric, he was definitely depleted. Matched against Tiamat, a dragon whom the entirety of the Children of Power had not been able to match, he was as good as dead.

Eric stirred and woke as Tiamat advanced towards the magician. Varla was captivated by the scene, unsure of what to do to save her friends. She had to do something! Ready to run back to aid her Presto or to die next to him, Varla noticed a group of Orcs running towards her, en route to the atrium. Reinforcements had come. Varla resorted to using her sword, trying to keep the Orcs away from the large atrium to minimalize Presto's problems.

"I'll hold them back," she cried, unable to see the happenings inside the room.

What was happening was that Presto was muttering a prayer. There was no way they would make it. Teleportation would be impossible with Eric across the floor and Varla in the other room: he would not leave them behind, and hadn't the power to take specific targets not holding hands with him or at least close by. If they were not close together, he ran the risk of teleporting Tiamat with him.

"You foollllll," the dragon snorted. "Ssssuch a ssshame to seeee your promisssse wassssted. Farewellll Magician." The red head raised itself up, ready to release a lethal stream of fire when Presto ducked and rolled _closer _to the beast.

Varla had finished the two Orc guards that had come, and saw Presto roll closer to Tiamat as Tiamat let out a stream of fire.

"What?" the dragon mused. No aggressor had ever gotten closer to her: mostly they cowered in fear. "Ssssilly boy. I will get you ssssssoon enough!" The red head twisted around to face Presto, who was stationed by her legs. He really had no idea what he was doing, except buying himself time.

"_Bending light_

_A valuable protector_

_To defeat this foe_

_Summon a magical reflector"_

The hat glowed quickly, just as the red head advanced, and Presto pulled from it a handheld mirror. It looked small, but when the red head opened fire (literally), instead of burning to a crisp like any other mirror, the fire was reflected back on the head! Tiamat roared in pain, but no burn marks appeared on the tough, near invincible scales.

"Juveniiiiile," Tiamat scoffed, opening the green head, spraying Presto with poisonous gas. Upon contact with his skin, he broke out into a series of terrible looking sores. Presto screamed, tumbling backwards and falling, the gas burning through his robes. Luckily, he had moved so the main gust of the gas had hit only one arm, which Varla could see the robe quickly disintegrating.

"You can't killll meeeee… I am immortallll from earthlingssssss like youuuuuu," Tiamat taunted.

Presto knew the battle was lost, hands down. He just needed a clever ruse to get Varla and Eric out of there… He didn't care much for the lack of originality, so Presto repeated the old spell that caused an earthquake that killed the Orcs, running with reckless abandon towards Eric as the roof began to give in again.

Tiamat's long tail, spiked with poison swung around and hit him in the abdomen as the monster turned to observe the crumbing ceiling, Doubling over and biting through the excruciating pain, Presto reached Eric just in time, holding up his shield to protect them from the blow.

"Nooooo!" the dragon cried as chunks of the roof began crushing her heads. Presto gripped hands with Eric.

"Do you have things you've been keeping from us, Presto?" Eric mumbled, regaining some consciousness and realizing their intertwined hands. Presto let go quickly, using his newly freed hand to begin casting another spell. A large piece of concrete hit the shield, and Presto stumbled under the weight of it, barely able to keep his eyes open from the exhaustion and the blood loss. With one hand supporting the shield and another (the one inflicted by the sores) over his hat for the spell, nothing was keeping the blood from flowing freely from the gash in his side.

"Hold the shield," he begged. "Hold onto my robe. VARLA!"

She ran quickly, Tiamat letting out an icy streak behind her. The crumbling ceiling must have been like pebbles hitting her: merely an annoying happening. But it had bought them time. Varla slid across the floor, reaching Presto, and held tightly to his waist (one arm was terribly injured, the other conjuring a spell). The spell was cast, and he transported them from the room at long last.

The power it took to cast a spell directly connected with Eric and Varla was substantially less than if he had to without direct connection to both of them, but still the toll of the spell had taken effect. Presto had gotten them in a dank alleyway in the forgotten parts of the city, far away from Tiamat and everything else. The spell… his face was ashen, and his eyes unable to focus on anything.

"Shit, where are we, Presto?" Eric got out, shakily standing up.

"Etreos, I think," he was able to get out. Presto sunk to the ground, clutching his hat to his side, his green robes turning brown with thick, congealed blood.

"Damn it," Varla said aloud, catching him as best as she could. Her hand went over his wound, trying desperately to deter the blood flow.

"Eric. Eric, his breath is getting shallow!" Varla squeaked, unable to conceive it.

"Oh hell, what happened to you?" Eric said, coming to his senses. "We need to get you to a cleric." He wrapped his strong arms around Presto's thin, bloodied waist, ready to take Presto to a hospital or _somewhere, _but Presto gestured his good hand for him to stop. "What now?"

"Leave. Quickly," Presto rasped in a low voice. "Minutes." Eric took that to mean that he had mere minutes left.

Varla picked up his discarded hat. It was crusted with blood, and some remnants of the poisonous gas nipped the tips of her delicate fingers. "I can't heal him. We need magic, at this point.

_Healing grace_

_Magician's soul_

_Stem the flow_

_Make body whole"_

It was the best she could come up with given the circumstances, but the hat did not respond. Presto kept trying to wave them away.

"We're in the heart of the Republic. They'll find you here in minutes," he gasped, his voice irregular. The strain that sentence took on his body was visible, and his face turned from a sheet-white color to gray.

"We're not leaving him," Varla said, dropping the magic hat to the floor.

"No," Presto croaked.

"NO! You promised me!" Varla closed her eyes in deep concentration, focusing all of her willpower. She tried her hardest to connect with Uni… Uni had a healing magic that only the Unicorn species possessed. Human healing powers would do nothing for her friend now. The message was painless for her to get across, which was a huge relief.

Eric had ripped a part of his flowing red cape off, and was using fabric to still the blood flow. Some strips of the fabric he dipped in a nearby puddle, and laid them across Presto's perspiring head. "Varla, quickly," he said, hoarse, cradling Presto's head in his lap. Chest rises and falls were getting slower still, and more irregular.

'_Uni: It's Varla. No time to talk. Find me. Presto's hurt, bad. Come NOW.' _Varla said in her vision, praying that Uni could understand.

"Varla, he's fleeting," Eric said, already starting to tear up. He snapped his fingers right in front of Presto's nose, but his eyes did not stir: they were staring unseeingly at the space around. Uni appeared out of nowhere and wasted no time. She bent her horn to his wound (which Eric and Varla winced at, for they heard the crinkle of human skin), and they waited. Both Varla and Eric waited with bated breath for Uni's magic to work, praying that it reached the Magician in time. They alley was silent, but filled with terror for the one they both loved.


	15. Chapter 14: The Stranger

Blackmoor loomed ahead like a thorn out of the Etreos skyline, what with its foreboding spires and towers perched precariously hundreds of feet from the ground, dominating the skies above and barely kissing the low-hanging clouds.

The Talisman of Veritaes was somewhere inside the expansive structure, and Hank felt no excitement towards the task ahead of him.

"So what exactly does the Talisman of Veritaes do?" Bobby asked as they weaved their way through Etreos. Sheila had used her cloak to get them safely into the city walls: the less officials that knew of their faces, the better.

"Dungeon Master didn't explain himself," Diana muttered, obviously displeased with the amount of information they had been given. "I suppose he just wants us to waltz off into the politically unstable west looking for a magical totem that will somehow save the world, but we don't even know how to use it!"

"Yep, that sounds about right," Sheila laughed. "The day Dungeon Master ever gives a straight answer…"

"No wonder his kids ended up so messed up," Diana laughed.

"You all worked with Dungeon Master often?" Aiyesha asked in awe. "He is a man of legends from my childhood… too powerful to ever consider affiliating with someone as low as us. It is extremely rare to ever even see him, let alone be trained by him!"

"Diana, slow down!" Sheila laughed. Diana had been acting funny the moment they hit Etreos. She seemed more… excitable, and kept peering into every cloak and every shop as though looking for something.

Etreos was busy despite the terror that rampaged through the east. Hank wondered how the inhabitants ever made it through the day, knowing that a giant prison of nightmarish monsters was only a few mountains over and that an evil mastermind was somewhere within the city. The Etreos citizens didn't seem too disturbed by it. Streets were full, vendors had their wares out for display, and all species of creatures briskly trotted through the sidewalks, disappearing into buildings. There weren't any children out playing, though, nor were there families walking. Everyone seemed out and about only to get their business done.

They all were armed.

Diana pulled down a flier that was pasted to the side of a building.

_NOTICE:_

_Citizens be reminded that curfew is at sundown_

_Violators will be arrested on site_

_City gates will be opened on weekends when the suns are out_

_During the weekdays they will be closed. The doors wait for no one_

_Citizens require passes to enter and exit the city_

_Citizens smuggling in and out of city limits will be hung_

"Is it that bad?"

"Your arrival was a desperation move on Dungeon Master's part," Aiyesha said somberly, reading over the notice. "Things must finally be bubbling to the surface."

"People have mentioned a war," Bobby said, and Aiyesha clamped her hand firmly over his mouth. "It is dangerous to discuss politics on the street. We must keep moving."

Diana's heart fell. No Kosar. Eric hadn't been lying… he wasn't low enough for that… but what were the odds of finding one man out of an entire city when he didn't even know that she was looking for him? Almost zero. Diana had meant to ask Dungeon Master about Kosar the last time he had popped up, but talk of the talisman had made her forget her inquiries.

"Kosar's in Etreos," Diana whispered to Hank for an explanation of her odd behavior.

"Why didn't you tell us?!" She shrugged.

"Not quite sure. Afraid that it is true, afraid that it isn't."

"We'll help you look. We'll keep an eye out," Hank promised. "But not right now. Don't turn around. I think that someone is following us."

"Did you get a good look at him?" Bobby said in a hushed voice, not helping but overhearing what the older two had been saying. Hank was, to be short, annoyed at his meddlesome nature.

"An older man, I thought. But he's been with us for the past few blocks, keeping pace with us."

"I can follow him," Bobby offered. "Me and Uni. Just duck into this upcoming market place. Pretend to shop around for a bit. Find a way to disappear in the crowds, and I'll follow this guy."

"I don't like you alone in Etreos," Sheila said nervously. "Especially with Thorne and the Talisman so close by."

"Come off it, sis. I can take care of myself now!"

"But we need to find out what this person is up to…" Diana said, carefully. She didn't want Sheila mad at her, but Bobby had grown from the little ten year-old that had entered the realm so long ago. He had changed. His voice was beginning to crack, and he had started racing in height. Soon, he would be as tall as the boys were. Hell, they weren't boys anymore! Hank would soon celebrate his nineteenth-realm-birthday, with Eric and Presto in tow.

Hank slowly nodded his head, but said, "The decision is Sheila's and yours alone. I am staying out of this one."

Sheila threw up her hands in disgust. "Thanks Hank! So now if I disagree, I'm the bad guy! Fine, Bobby. Do as you wish." She stomped ahead of them into the crowded marketplace, leaving sullied feelings behind and an unsettling feeling that no one could place a name to. Maybe their group was too split up. Already Eric and Presto were across the Sarinthis. Now, Bobby would be split from the group too.

"I'll take Uni," he promised the four elders as he left, and disappeared into the crowd.

They arrived at Blackmoor after letting Bobby slip away moments before. Hank disliked the feeling of Blackmoor: there were so many guards and dark magic about, it began dampening his feelings.

Up close, the fortress was even more massive and formidable. It would take ages to comb through the castle! Perhaps Thorne kept the talisman close by… if it was so important, Hank doubted that Thorne would leave it unguarded or away from his royal hall.

Sheila disappeared behind her cloak, pulling Hank's sleeve to a back entrance to the kitchens. Hiding in the supply closet until the coast was clear, they snuck into the heart of the castle without detection.

Bobby had found a way to end up behind the stranger, who did indeed look like he was lost after the four older kids had departed. He definitely was their stalker. With an apathetic shrug, the stranger began making his way back to the suburbs of Etreos, away from the hustle and bustle. Bobby feared straying too far from the others, and knew he would need to corner the man before he could slip away entirely.

After about four blocks, the stranger recognized that he was now the one being stalked, and picked up his pace. Bobby matched his long strides as best as he could, pushing aside pedestrians until the man broke out into a full sprint. Uni split one block racing so that way the two of them could corner the stranger. He stopped after about half a mile, when Uni was able to cut him off. Looking behind, he saw Bobby still chasing after him, and darted into an alley. The alley was a dead end.

The stranger held his gnarled hands up in surrender. He was a middle aged man, humanoid. Even in his old age, he was built sturdily, like a general. His clothes were those of a merchants: functional and sturdy, but not elaborate.

"Who are you?" Bobby hissed at him, holding his club up like a bat, prepared to defend himself if the stranger proved hostile.

"A friend," he said.

"That's not convincing me."

Suddenly, an apparition of Varla appeared in the space between them. _'Uni: It's Varla. No time to talk. Find me. Presto's hurt, bad. Come NOW,' _the specter said before disappearing. It was exactly like the time Varla had called out to Presto when they were in her village… Bobby remembered the time well. They had been imprisoned since Presto was a magician, and Varla had sent a distress message directly to him. Bobby never knew that Varla could send messages to anyone but Presto.

Uni disappeared quickly with a bleat.

"Beautiful unicorn you have. Peculiar that she doesn't fawn over a young maiden," the stranger remarked, but Bobby raised his club again to remind the man why they were here in the alley to begin with.

"Why should I trust you? You were following us!"

"Why should I trust _you_? You were following _me_."

"Don't try to be clever… I know…"

Uni was returning, but this time with passengers that Bobby recognized. His initial worry morphed into terror as…

"Presto?"

Varla was clutching Eric's arm in one hand, and holding tight to Uni's flank with the other. Later Bobby would ponder the amazing power his unicorn friend had to transport so many others, but then was not the time. In Eric's arms lay a limp version of Presto, his green robes torn off (he wore a navy shirt and pants underneath, though), revealing a gaping wound at his side. Eric seemed unsteady too, but relatively unhurt in comparison to his best friend.

"Uni's magic did wonders, but he is still far from health," Varla said, tearfully, running forward. "We escaped from a prison in Shalderon, near Mindrel, which is to the southwest of here. Your Unicorn transported us a great deal of miles. We were almost captured again when she was in the middle of healing, so we had to transport back to here."

"Finish your job, Uni," Bobby ordered her, hysteria edging at his voice. He suddenly cared little that the stranger he was supposed to be interrogating was watching them.

Eric already had lain Presto on the ground, his limbs rather unsteady from their imprisonment and the electrocution from Tiamat. Uni tapped her horn against his side, which seemed to be the most grievous wound.

"What happened to him?" the stranger asked. Bobby had almost forgotten he was even there.

"He was in a battle with Tiamat," Eric said, wiping his brow. Varla held Presto's hand in her own, clutching it tightly, as though only pressure there would keep him in the realm of the living.

"Then he must be a very powerful wizard," the stranger lent, "if he was in battle with Tiamat and even survived to see the end of it. Tiamat is close to immortal."

"He was hit by her poisonous tail," Varla said, openly sobbing. "We're afraid that the poison had too much time in his system before he… got us out of there." Uni took a step back, the wounds sealed. She began tapping on Presto's useless arm, trying to rid it of the sores that had erupted there. Still, his breath was shallow and fever high. "Who are you?" she asked, as the stranger got closer to Presto's body, protectively.

The man held his arms up as a sign of peace. "My name is Iorweth. Dungeon Master sent me to aid you all in your missions. I followed the one called Hank, following orders. Dungeon Master said that they were trying to find Thorne, and I wanted to be invisible assistance. Hank and the other three girls disappeared into a thick mass of people in a marketplace, so I followed the Barbarian instead, hoping to keep him safe until he was reunited with his group."

"Are you a cleric? Do you know healing spells?" Eric asked, not caring much about Iorweth's credentials, but more about the more immediate problem.

"Unfortunately, no."

Uni took a step back from Presto, her healing work completed to the best of her knowledge. The large gash in his side had been mended and the scorched arm had been made whole again. Bobby pulled out food from his pack that he had brought into Etreos, filled with foodstuffs, and wet a ripped piece of Eric's cape to put on Presto's forehead, the way he had seen Hank do it once.

"Let's get out of this alley," Iorweth said, leading the children to a nearby empty store. Eric scooped his friend up in his arms again, and they darted as quickly as possible away from the public eye, blindly trusting Iorweth. The store he led them to had been ransacked by pillagers and thieves, closed when the owner had left past curfew. "Get him away from the window," Iorweth suggested, herding the children into a back room. "No doubt that news of your escape has reached here to Thorne already!" Bobby's suspicions lifted as Iorweth helped them heal Presto. He might not have been a cleric, but he knew a fair amount of healing elixirs from his travels through the Dustlands. They hastily concocted a few choice recipes he had picked up, which greatly improved Presto's skin color and fever.

"How do you feel?" Varla asked Presto for the hundredth time. They had been in the back room for over an hour, hurriedly slapping together ingredients.

Finally, instead of a shrug or a mere wince, Presto broke into a huge grin and said, "I could fight ten Tiamats now!"

"Let's not go to that extreme, now," Eric laughed, relief flooding him. "We should rejoin the others now."

"Can you stand?" Presto tried his legs slowly, and they did not abandon him.

"Onward."


	16. Chapter 15: Iorweth

They travelled to Blackmoor together, which was only about a mile away. Even that small journey taxed Presto, who leaned heavily on either Eric or Varla during that time (though healed, his strength still was a tenth of what it had been before), his magical hat stuffed into his pocket. They had left his wizard robes back in the abandoned store for fear that they might draw unwanted attention on the street.

"What are your friends searching for?" Iorweth asked. His kind elixirs had evaporated whatever pretenses the others had about him, and Bobby answered him without thinking.

"The Talisman of Veritaes."

"I've heard of it only once," Iorweth said, knitting his brows together. "I know not of what it does, but only that Thorne keeps it in his throne room."

"Which will be heavily guarded, I assume," Eric said. "Perfect."

Navigating Etreos was a cinch since Iorweth seemed to know his way around the nooks and crannies of the streets. If pedestrians paid them much mind, the children couldn't tell: in the thick of the city, they blended in with the wild colors and odd clothing of the inhabitants. Also, as they neared Blackmoor (which was in the exact center of the city), the population grew denser and the streets more chaotic. It was not a chore to camouflage.

Eric felt such an enormous relief wash over him since Presto was healed. With the whole Kosar/Diana fiasco going on, Presto was the only steady thing in his life… his confidant. Heroes needed sidekicks, he reasoned, and Presto was his. He didn't pay Iorweth much mind, nor the city of Etreos (which was dangerous and stupid… not completely out of character), or even his severed fingers. The sun seemed to shine brighter. They were finally on their way. In pieces, true, but at least alive.

Hank, Sheila, Diana, and Aiyesha made it deeper into the castle without any interference. Sure, a couple of times they had to wait for an Orc or Lizardman to pass them by in a hallway, or they would have to find a different route to a stairwell due to some meeting in a room… but that was besides the matter. Other than that, entering Blackmoor was no more or less difficult than invading any of the other fortresses of Venger that the Children of Power had accomplished in their younger years.

Maybe to a normal earthling with the average taste for adventure and equal balance of adrenaline and good sense would've found the feat impossible. But impossible had, sometime over the years, become the norm for the Children of Power. Here they were: school kids trying to topple an evil empire.

The simply journey was agonizing for Diana, who even started to wish for a skirmish with some Orcs, simply to take her mind off of other things. She wished desperately to split from the group and check the dungeons for Kosar, and voiced her opinion on the matter as soon as there was time to, so that they would not travel far from the basements without knowing her intentions.

"I am going to check the dungeons for Kosar and other allies," Diana told Hank half a second after entering Blackmoor. That was her diplomatic side. In all actuality, she cared little for any other ally except Kosar, but she wanted to make the idea sound enticing for the Ranger. "Our friends usually aren't in the good graces of evils like Thorne. I'm sure I can find some people of use down there." Aiyesha protested this strongly.

"You are a good fighter," Aiyesha said simply. "I will look for this Kosar. I have heard of your description of him, and can ask around. Stay with Hank and Sheila to protect them."

"But you are a fair fighter, too," Diana protested.

Aiyesha shook her head. "Not nearly as skilled in combat as you. My accuracy in archery and strategic mindset is useful elsewhere than a covert mission."

"I would rather that we not split up again," Sheila butt in. "Eric and Presto one way, Bobby and Uni the other… if we're going to keep this pattern, we might as well all take different routes now about the country!"

"Don't worry, sister," Aiyesha said, giving Sheila a big hug. "We encountered many evils in my father's kingdom. It takes a strong spirited person to make it in such a huge eastern hub. I will be fine, I think, and I will go now."

Sheila's face conveyed her resignation to the insistences. Her voice sounded defeated. "Take the cloak, then, if you must go. I trust you with it. There's no hope of you making it past the guards without it. Bring it back as soon as you're done."

"I couldn't," Aiyesha refused at first, but Sheila's adamant pleading got the better of her. So Aiyesha left the group, travelling down the stairs to the sub-terrestrial dungeon before disappearing from sight.

Their lack of opposition was eerie: surely there had to be more guards! Or monsters… or _something._ The level of security was too lax to be true. Hank didn't like it in the slightest bit… the tension in the air was really getting to him. There was something different about the situation… maybe there was a piece of the puzzle they were missing from the grand picture of things.

"Let's keep searching," he said, for lack of a better plan. The three of them combed the rooms carefully, stumbling upon large conference rooms and living quarters and slave houses and storage units. Hank had no sense of the layout of Blackmoor, or what wing of it they were in, but he hoped that they were nearing the more important parts of the castle like the war room or the throne room. Those were the places he thought the talisman was most likely to be located.

"Do you think Aiyesha is alright? And Bobby?" Diana asked to fill the silence of an empty hall. "And we haven't heard from Eric and Presto yet…"  
"I don't know. Hopefully they're in Tardos helping Queen Surinara," Hank whispered, lowering everyone's voice level and reminding them of the potential danger they were in. "But, truth be told, I wouldn't mind their help out here. It's creepy."

After careful searching, on one of the higher floors of the castle (eventually they started looking only for the throne room and war room instead of going through every little closet and bedchamber they happened upon) Sheila found the throne room.

"I know why there are so few guards around," Sheila said, peering into one of the room near the end of the hall. They had been searching for almost an hour without Aiyesha. "The throne room is empty. Thorne probably isn't here." The others gathered around the door to see what she meant.

Inside the throne room, a long oriental carpet led to an empty, ornately crafted, golden throne. There was a balcony overlooking the western stretches of Etreos and the Isildras Mountains, which was also empty. Even with the door open to the airy balcony, the room reeked of roses, with rose petals dotting the floor. It was a large room with very little furnishings (none, actually, besides the throne itself), and the walls were painted in a simple shade of scarlet. Nothing more.

Beyond the throne and rug, there was only one other object in the room: Next to the throne lay a golden necklace with a deep purple crystal inside, almost tantalizingly close to our heroes. It held an aura of being important, and they could feel its power from across the room.

"And that must be the talisman," Sheila said, going over to pick it up. This seemed almost too easy! Hank was very suspicious of the entire set up, and had his bow at the ready, arrow notched just in case. Sheila went forward gingerly, but when she touched the talisman, nothing peculiar happened. No hissing or traps. No glowing. Sheila very well could have picked up an ordinary necklace from her jewelry case back at home.

"I don't like this one bit," Diana said, watching in awe as Sheila walked in plain sight across the throne room, stealing perhaps the key to the Republic's downfall in the open.

Meanwhile, Iorweth had led the party around near the back entrances of Blackmoor. "I'll enter the castle with the Barbarian and Cavalier," Iorweth decided. "Magician, I fear you're still not strong enough to enter…"  
"I'll be fine," he stubbornly insisted (against Varla and Eric's protests).

"Are you sure? Battling Tiamat took a great deal of strength from you…"  
"I'm positive," Presto cut in, making it quite clear in his inflections how he would not follow anyone else's advice about the matter. "We must complete this task together or not at all."

"How noble," Iorweth said dryly. "I've heard that he throne room overlooks the west on the western tower. We shall start by trying to get to there."

Nothing. The talisman did nothing when Sheila picked it up, and did nothing when she went across the room and gave it to Hank. It definitely felt like it was something important… whether it was the Talisman of Veritaes or not, no one could tell since Dungeon Master had given no description.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."  
"I can't believe we came all the way across a continent for _this!_" Diana impatiently whacked the neckpiece against the stone walls. Nada. She started jumping around the throne room, swinging her arms about in some sort of odd dance.

"Not even a booby trap," she said, almost sounding angry at Thorne's inability to prepare, almost angry that she wasn't being attacked. "This seems too easy. Let's just book it out of here…"

No objections to that one. Sighing, the three turned to leave, but were knocked back by a sea of familiar faces entering the chamber.

"Eric?!"

"Hank?!"

There was a quiet chorus of greetings and how-are-yous, which Iorweth waited through patiently.

("You fought freaking _Tiamat_? What are you, some form of badass?" "And the Dungeon Master just left you to search an entire castle without a description? Seems like him." "Yeah, and Tardos was taken over. We didn't turn around quickly enough, and Orc parties took us over. To Shalderon. Yeah… where Martha, that old lady with the pygmy pet, was.")

"And where is Aiyesha?" Bobby asked, surprised to see someone missing already.

"Looking for Kosar," Hank said. Iorweth's eyes widened. Diana looked to her moccasins as Eric looked to see her reaction. While he was, of course, slightly relieved (in an awful, awful, selfish way), her unhappiness stung him just as sharply as though it were his own. This whole love-triangle thing would take some getting-used-to.

Iorweth looked horrified at that news. "It's not safe to split up in a castle such as this! To allow one to roam _Blackmoor _alone? Suicide!"

"Where's Thorne? This _is _his throne room, right?" Bobby asked. Diana shrugged.

"Get inside! I see a pack of guards passing the hall," Iorweth said suddenly, pulling the children inside the throne room and shutting the door. Their sudden celebrations at seeing one another was immediately silenced as they heard the clicking of boots pass the door.

"Have they passed?" Eric whispered. Iorweth put his ear to the wood.

"I believe so. It is only us, now."

"How are we going to get out, now that we have what we believe to be the Talisman?" Varla asked. "If there are now guards in the hall that we need to exit from?"

"We could take the window?" Bobby suggested. "Presto could probably make the carpet fly… like from the movies!"

"That doesn't sound like the best idea," Iorweth cautioned. "It is such a long way to fall if your Magician were to fail…"

"He won't," Hanks said with conviction. "And Bobby: nice thinking. Presto: is it possible? We probably should book it as soon as possible. I really don't like the feeling of this place. It was almost nicer with Venger: he never did this cat-and-mouse sort of thing."

"It's possible…" Presto began, already concentrating. Those who knew him well were not surprised at all when the enormous carpet lifted itself towards the vaulted ceiling with only a few words spoken by the boy-wizard. But for Aiyesha (who had only seen him at his weakest) and Iorweth, the sight was stunning. "Piece of cake," Presto tried to joke, though the stress of spell-casting had created a line of sweat on his brown and turned his skin ten shades paler.

But there was something new to explore: from under the long carpet, Presto's magic had revealed a trap door, closer to the throne than to the door.

"That was unexpected," Eric stated, unnecessarily. "Bobby, get a load of this!" The two ran to the new development in the adventure, Bobby's club glowing and ready to go. (Presto deposited the rug in a crumpled heap near the corner, all Aladdin-like-notions momentarily forgotten). Bobby broke the iron chain that closed the door with a casual flick from his Weapon of Power, such was the strength of his club. Eric was the first to peer inside, and the boys ogled at what they saw. In the trapdoor was a body of a middle aged man, his throat cut and congealed with thick blood. He looked like he was recently killed… maybe only for a few days or hours even. Kingly robes were on him, and those his face had been badly beaten, he still bore remarkable resemblance to...

"Iorweth?" Eric said turning around, but Iorweth was gone. Instead, there were two Sheilas standing in the room. "Oh hell."


	17. Chapter 16: The Beginning

"I'm the real Sheila!" one of them cried. "The other is an imposter! A fake!"

"She's lying," cried the other in an identical voice.

"That explains things," Bobby said slowly. "The roses are to cover the scent of the dead Thorne. A doppelganger has been in his place the entire time! Which is why monsters are entering the realm… the doppelganger is letting its fellow monsters in so Sarinthis can be overrun by the dark creatures!"

"I'm confused," Eric said, shaking his head. "Iorweth was really Thorne who was really a doppelganger of the real Thorne? This is too much."

"Hank, can't you tell it's me?" cried one of the Sheilas. "Kill the other one! That's Thorne! Expose it! Expose it!"

"Ask me a question, Hank! One that only the real Sheila would know!"

"Don't do that, Hank! Everybody knows that doppelgangers take memories too… she would know the answer because I DO!"

It was getting dizzying, having two voices of Sheila in the room. Hank struggled to keep the two separated in his mind, and kept reminding himself he was not having double vision. While he liked Sheila very much, to deal with two of her was just plain annoying. One of the Sheila's lunged for him, to show him how to help or to attack, and the other body-checked the first out of the way. What ensued was a ferocious fight between the two Sheilas on the ground before everyone… a fight that involved profane language, kicking, spitting, pulling of hair… like two toddlers fighting over a toy in the sandbox, Sheila and the doppelganger wrestled. It was almost comical, but then again a monster of equal strength to the real Sheila was trying to rip her apart. The talisman! It must expose doppelgangers! He pointed it to one of the Sheilas (which was hard to lock onto and focus because of the constantly-moving fight), and it began to glow, so that the Sheila under the beam of the talisman began to scream. A white looking ghoul was extracted from the body… the doppelganger spirit.

"Eric, quick! Before it can latch onto someone else!" Hank yelled. Eric took Hank's fallen bow and aimed a group of arrows at the white specter, hitting it fatally in the abdomen. The children cheered as the monster sunk to the floor, gasping for breath. Those that looked into its eyes for too long were greatly disturbed, for they saw distortions of themselves in the dying irises.

Varla was not to be trifled with, even then. She stepped on the creature's arm, applying almost enough pressure to break its twiggy appendage. "Tell us what you know."

"Varla, that's unethical…"

"Bastards like these have killed my father and my village so shut up," she roared. "Tell us what you know or I'll break your arm in two. You're going to die, but I can make it hurt."

"It's done," the beast said, smiling from ear to ear. Its breath was ragged from the wound, and gravelly naturally… a voice that could belong to anyone it seemed.

"What's done?"

"The western gates are open now. The monster onslaught is beginning. We will take what is ours. Down with Aaldore and long live the homeland," it said, before its eyes permanently glassed over.

And right then, all festivities and merriment and hope and relief and petty worries and comfort went out the window. A chill set in, and the children wordlessly watched the doppelganger dissolve into a pile of white ash that swirled around the empty chamber, mixing with the rose petals at the next gust of wind.

"Damn. We're too late."


End file.
